


When Shadows Collide, The Game Begins

by LonelyWhovian



Category: BBC Sherlock, Harry Potter - Fandom, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Harry Potter - Freeform, Hogwarts, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Slytherin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 50,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23164669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LonelyWhovian/pseuds/LonelyWhovian
Summary: The Great Sherlock Holmes was never one for emotion, but one murder case on Privet Drive changes all that.When he finds Harry Potter cowering in fear, Sherlock decides that this child shall be his son. He takes Harry away from the abusive Dursleys and gives him a new life in London.Though living with Sherlock is never boring, Harry often feels as if something is missing. That something is discovered when letters start to arrive, saying that Harry is a wizard.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 73
Kudos: 525
Collections: Best Harry Potter Crossovers





	1. Chapter 1

The Dursleys were - to an untrained eye - a perfectly normal family. They had a son, Dudley, who was only a few years old, a nice house in Surrey, and, it seemed, not a care in the world.

However, if you did have a trained eye - as was the case of Sherlock Holmes - you would notice things that would seem insignificant to anyone else. Like the constant wary looks, the fact that they spoiled their child so much he screamed if he wasn't holding something brand new, as if to tell the child before them that he was the greatest and the only one that mattered, something that an only child would have no reason not to believe.

Upon seeing these things, Sherlock Holmes decided to investigate. These people were hiding something, and he was determined to find out what it was. The opportunity to do just that presented itself only a few months later. A murder on Privet Drive, the very same street the Dursley's lived on.

"Freak!" He heard someone yell on the other side of the door. The name made him shudder. Freak was a name he was only too used to. "You can't do anything! Stupid child!" This confirmed Sherlock's suspicions, the Dursley's would never speak to their son that way. That meant there was another child in the house. He knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" It was the same gruff voice that had been yelling at the child.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes. I'm with the police." The door opened.

"And why are you here?" The man asked. Sherlock sighed. He recognised the man as Vernon Dursley. Hardly surprising, as that was the reason he had taken this case.

"There was a murder." The man's face paled. "I'm here to question you. Not that I think you did it." Mr Dursley begrudgingly let him in.

As they walked past the cupboard under the stairs, Sherlock noticed that the door was regularly slammed and it had a padlock. He moved closer and heard a quiet sobbing coming from within.

"What do you keep in here?" He asked, knowing that Mr Dursley wasn't going to tell him the truth.

"Nothing, just coats." Sherlock nodded.

"And your coats need to be locked in do they?" Sweat appeared on Mr Dursley's brow.

"The ... Um ... Door. It won't stay closed," he said. Sherlock held out his hand for the key and Mr Dursley slowly placed it in his palm. Sherlock unlocked the door and was appalled to see a young child, no more than three, huddled up in the corner, hugging himself and crying. Sherlock turned around and punched Mr Dursley in the face. Mr Dursley cried out in pain and Greg Lestrade ran inside.

"Jeez Sherlock, what did you do that for!" Sherlock said nothing, only pointing at the cupboard. "Oh my god," Lestrade whispered. He turned around and faced Mr Dursley, who was holding a bleeding nose. "Mr Dursley, you are under arrest on suspicion of child abuse and neglect. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." Mr Dursley was so shocked he didn't even try to stop Lestrade from handcuffing him. It was at this time that Mrs Dursley entered the foyer and let out a scream at the sight of her husband.

"I'll leave this one up to you, Lestrade," Sherlock said, a smirk finding its way onto his face. He then went into the cupboard and looked at the small, black-haired boy who was crying more than ever.

"Hey there." The kid looked up at the sound of an unfamiliar voice. He saw the blurry outline of a man. He had told the Dursley's that everything was blurry, but they said it was because he was always crying. He had accepted that there didn't seem to be any other explanation.

"Why was Aunty yelling?" He asked the man.

"Because you're never going to see them again." The look of joy was so absolute on the little boys face, it made Sherlock himself want to smile.

"Where am I going?" He asked.

"You're coming home with me." And Sherlock picked up the painfully thin boy and walked out of the cupboard.

"What's your name?" He asked.

"Harry, Harry Potter."


	2. Chapter 2

Lestrade was exceptionally surprised to see Sherlock Holmes walking out of the house with the child held in his arms.

  
"What are you going to do with him? He's been removed from the Dursley's custody." Lestrade was unsure what Sherlock was going to say. What he defiantly wasn't expecting was Sherlock saying;

  
"I'm going to adopt him, of course." The tall man then walked to the side of the road and hailed a taxi.

  
"Where do you want to go?" The taxi driver asked him.

  
"Saint Bartholomew's Hospital." The driver nodded and pulled out onto the street.

  
"Hello, Harry." The boy looked up at the man. "You're going to meet a friend of mine. She'll help you get better. Then you're going to move in with me." Harry nodded, and, in doing so, shifted his fringe, revealing an oddly shaped scar. It was like a lightning bolt.

  
"Where did you get this?" Sherlock asked. Harry didn't know what he was talking about, so he shrugged. "The scar, on your forehead." Harry still had no idea what Sherlock was referring to and told him just that. Sherlock frowned. Most children, even two-year-olds, would notice something like that. Unless there was something impairing his vision.

  
"Harry, is everything hard to see, all fuzzy." Harry nodded.

  
"Uncle said it was because I cried too much." Sherlock scowled. He hated that man even more. He hoped that he would be imprisoned for the rest of his life, but he knew it was unlikely, as Harry wasn't a justifiable witness.

  
The taxi slowed to a stop outside of an old, grey hospital. Sherlock got out his phone and texted Molly Hooper.

  
Molly, I have a child who needs medical attention. He is severely malnourished and dehydrated.  
SH

  
Once he had sent it, he got out of the taxi and paid the driver, then he picked up Harry again and walked into the Hospital. He was greeted by a short, blond woman who looked slightly nervous. This was Molly.

  
"Oh my god, Sherlock!" She quickly led them to the children's ward and Sherlock placed Harry down on an empty bed. Harry seemed reluctant to let go, but Sherlock told him that if he didn't, he wouldn't get better.

  
"I'm not the right person for this," Molly said to Sherlock.

  
"So find someone who is." He was getting agitated. Molly nodded and called some people. Soon there were nurses all around the bed. Harry was starting to get afraid. All these unknown people and unknown environments were making him nervous. Upon seeing his discomfort, Sherlock held his hand. This had the desired effect and Harry relaxed.

  
Ten minutes later, the nurses left, leaving Harry with a small meal, a drip, and a heart monitor beeping steadily. Sherlock was still sitting next to him, a slight look of worry on his usually emotionless face. Molly was just about to leave when Sherlock turned to her.

  
"Molly," he hesitated, "he also might need glasses." Molly nodded. "And, thank you."

  
"You're welcome, Sherlock." She said in an even voice. Then she left.

  
"So your name is Sherlock?" Sherlock nodded.

  
"My full name is William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

  
"I wish I had a cool name like that."

  
Sherlock was silent for a moment. "Well," he said finally, "if you want, you could become Harry Holmes. You could become my son." Harry contemplated this for a second, then nodded.

  
"Okay. Sounds good." Harry then began to eat his meal.

  
Once Harry had finished, Sherlock had the plate taken away.

  
"Sleep now," Sherlock said softly. The boy happily complied, falling into a deep slumber within minutes. Sherlock then brought out his phone and dialled a number.  
"Brother dear, tell me, what can you tell me about Harry Potter?

"Why? Because I'm going to adopt him."


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft Holmes, the eldest of the Holmes children, held a small position in the British Government. That is to say, he was the British Government.

  
Even with this position, there was little he discovered about Harry Potter. All he could find out about was that his parents, James Potter and Lily Evans, died in mysterious circumstances in a place called Godric's Hollow. There was no record of them going to school or having jobs.

  
Mycroft told his brother all he had found and also asked him if he thought adoption was really the right choice. Sherlock, of course, told Mycroft that he could do what he liked, besides, Mrs Hudson could help out.

  
Mycroft realised arguing would be pointless, but that didn't stop him from trying.

  
"Really Sherlock, just think about it. Do you really think you're the most suitable candidate for the boy's guardian?" Mycroft asked for what felt like the millionth time.

  
"I'll be a better guardian than the Dursley's." And this was a point that Mycroft could not disagree with. Sure, his brother was often cold and emotionless, but whenever he was around Harry, everything about him changed. He became like a regular human. Not a highly functioning sociopath as he put it.

  
Finally, Mycroft gave up. Like all the Holmes, Sherlock was unreasonably stubborn. He would do almost anything to achieve his ends, even if it endangered himself or others. Not the most endearing of traits, but Sherlock was intelligent, and, through that, slightly responsible. Maybe a child would encourage him to drop, or at least lessen, his emotionless facade. Besides, the boy would receive a great education and an interesting childhood. Mycroft had no doubt that as soon as he was healed, he would be running through crime scenes and doing his very best to solve them.

  
Another Sherlock Holmes wasn't exactly what the world needed, but it seemed like that was what it was going to get.


	4. Chapter 4

The flat of Sherlock Holmes was a messy one. Why bother tidying when it was almost impossible to forget where everything was? There were clothes and papers strewn across the floor. What little carpet could be seen was stained with chemicals. Some parts of it had been burnt through entirely, revealing the cheap wooden flooring beneath. There were clear paths that lead from the front door to the kitchen and to the small bed. 

Sherlock sighed. If a child was going to live there, it would need to be cleaned up. He began tidying and soon found a rhythm. Only an hour later, the flat was cleaner than he'd ever seen it. Sherlock sat cross-legged on the bed, pleased with his work. He had never been a huge fan of children but raising one of his own excited him. He would teach Harry everything he knew. New experiences were rare, and life was short.

After ordering some furniture from IKEA, Sherlock made a new room in his mind palace and began to fill it with information about raising children. It seemed that it would be fairly straightforward, but also quite time-consuming. It also looked as if his current living arrangements were inadequate. Perhaps it was time to move. He quickly went through all of his contacts, trying to decide who might be of assistance, and settled on an old lady known as Mrs Hudson. 

He had met her a few years ago while working on a case. After discovering that her husband was a drug lord and a crime boss, Sherlock had worked with Mrs Hudson to assure that the correct punishment was given. It had been quite easy to give him the death penalty with the extensive evidence that they provided. Since then, the woman had owed him a favour, and it seemed the right time to come collecting. 

* * *

"Good morning, Harry," said Sherlock as the young boy woke. There was a flicker of panic in the boy's face when he couldn't recognize anything, then he looked at Sherlock and relaxed.

"Hello," said Harry. He seemed quite a bit happier than he had yesterday. Sherlock smiled at him and handed him a tray of food. The boy looked shocked and Sherlock's smile faltered.

"Is this all for me?" asked Harry, incredulous. The plate had a piece of jam toast, a couple slices of apple, and a glass of orange juice. Not a lot of food, but to Harry, it seemed like a feast. Sherlock cursed the Dursleys under his breath. Who could let a child live like this and still sleep at night? It was disgusting. 

Harry finished the meal quickly and sighed happily. 

"How long until I can go home with you?" He asked. Sherlock picked up the diagnostics sheet and read over it. While Harry was still malnourished, there was no reason for him to stay in the hospital much longer. Sherlock was planning to pick up the stuff from IKEA later that day, but he saw no reason why he couldn't go earlier.

"How about I take a small trip to grab some stuff, then pick you up this afternoon and you come home then?" he asked Harry. Harry smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Sherlock laughed and told one of the nurses he would be back soon. Then he walked out of the hospital and hailed a taxi. Though not overly happy at the prospect of going all the way to IKEA and waiting around, the cabbie soon obliged when Sherlock shoved a hundred quid into his hand.

* * *

A few hours later, Harry was sitting on Sherlock's bed playing with his new glasses as Sherlock put together a bed. He had been trying for quite some time and had almost achieved his goal when he dropped a plank onto his toe. He swore. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Harry shrink back into a ball, covering his head with his arms. Sherlock immediately felt guilty.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Harry," he said. The boy looked up, a tear sliding down his cheek.

"That's what Uncle said." The boy's voice was little more than a whisper.

"Well, I am not your uncle," said Sherlock as he slowly approached Harry. The boy flinched again, then relaxed as Sherlock wrapped his arms around him and pulled him into a hug. Harry hugged back and sighed. 

"If you're not an uncle, then what should I call you?" asked Harry. Sherlock thought for a moment, then said,

"You can call me whatever you want."

"Okay... Dad," said Harry.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry very quickly grew to adore his new life. Every day began with a large breakfast and he was allowed to watch whatever he wanted on the TV. Then Sherlock would begin to teach him how to read and write, and the art of deduction. Harry caught on quickly, much to Sherlock's delight. Once he was good enough, Sherlock began to dig up old case files and give them to Harry to solve. Within a week, he was taking only a few hours to solve cases that would usually take the police several days.

While this was happening, Sherlock was working frantically to get the paperwork complete to finally adopt Harry. Many council workers had come over to inspect the flat, all saying that it was adequate but small. Sherlock would assure them that he was looking for a new place to live. Sherlock hated the people and the intrusions that they provided. A few had given him stern looks when Harry had gone up to them and told them everything about them. One of the many ways the two were similar was their lack of filter. 

Finally, after a month of inspections and questions, it was the day of Harry's adoption. The process leading up to this would usually take around six months, but Mycroft had pulled some strings to make it go faster. 

Harry had changed a lot in the past month. While he was still quite skinny, he was no longer emaciated. Almost everything brought a smile to his face. It had taken a long time for him to get used to three meals a day and not having to cook or clean the whole house just to get it. He had also begun to try and figure out where his scar had come from. It was an odd shape and didn't seem to be from any regular cut. He still liked it though. Though his fringe often covered it, he would gladly show it to every person he met. 

Both Sherlock and Harry were ecstatic. They were in a taxi to the courthouse and neither could stop smiling. When they arrived, they practically sprinted into the building. 

A few hours later, Sherlock and Harry Holmes left the building and went to buy some celebratory ice cream. Harry told every person he met that he just got adopted. Everyone responded with smiles and congratulatory words, though a few often looked at Sherlock warily. He would grin in response and they would quickly move on. 

When they finally arrived home late that night, Harry immediately fell onto his bed and fell asleep smiling. It had been a long day. Sherlock smiled as he tucked him in, then he went through the apartment, making sure everything was tidy, then he himself went to sleep.

* * *

The next day, Harry woke to the smell of frying eggs and bacon. He got up quickly and washed his hands before sitting at the small table. A plate of food was placed in front of him. A full English Breakfast. It was slightly burnt in places, but Sherlock was still only just getting the hang of cooking, so Harry ate it without complaint. 

"I've found a new flat that we can move into soon. I just need to find a flatmate," said Sherlock.

"Why do we have to move?" asked Harry.

"This place is quite small. Don't you want your own room?" Harry nodded. "I'm going down to the hospital today. I need to do some experiments. You're welcome to come, but you'll have to stay with Molly." Sherlock may have no issue with Harry solving crimes, but he would prefer it if the boy stayed away from the morgue for another few years. Harry agreed to come and they got ready to leave. 

* * *

When they came home later that afternoon, Sherlock began the rather small task of packing. They had bought some boxes and were done in a few hours. It tired them out, and they both fell asleep quickly that night. 

The next day, Sherlock hired a van and they drove all their stuff to the new flat, 221b Baker Street. They unpacked and spent the day settling in. Harry explored each and every corner, searching for secrets and treasure. He didn't find much and soon grew bored of this endeavour. Then he curled up on the new sofa with a book and practised reading. He was very good at it and only had to ask for Sherlock's help a few times. The book was kind of boring though, and Harry soon switched to practising his writing. Sherlock said that he was going to start school in a few months, and Harry did not want to be behind. 

Mrs Hudson, the landlady, was very nice to Harry, constantly giving him sweets and hugs. Harry found it a bit annoying, but put up with it. The toffee was worth it. Sherlock went to the Hospital alone that day, Mrs Hudson agreed to look after Harry on the condition that she would not become a nanny for him. Sherlock smiled, nodded, and left. 

Mrs Hudson decided that the best way to spend the day was to go to the London Eye. The queue was long and the city centre was packed with people, but Mrs Hudson did the easy thing. She accentuated her limp and put on a pained expression. People let her pass quickly and the two of them got to the front of the line in a few minutes. 

Harry had never been to London before. All the sights and sounds were awesome, if slightly overwhelming. When they went on the London Eye, they got a pod to themselves. Harry stood right up against the glass, staring, awestruck, at the city below. They went higher and higher and Harry looked at everything. He ran around the pod, looking at all the views of London city.

When they finally came back down, Harry was filled with energy. He ran all around the square, Mrs Hudson doing her best to follow him. She lost sight of him for a minute and panicked before finding him staring at the sign for the aquarium. 

"Can we please go in, Mrs Hudson?" asked Harry, doing his best pleading voice. Mrs Hudson nodded and they went inside.

Harry spent hours looking at all the different fish. Each one had him entranced. He read all the information plaques and asked all the employees dozens of questions. They all answered him, most of them shocked at his intellect. Sherlock had taught him well, he was way smarter than the average three-year-old.

They arrived back at 221b at around 8. It had taken a long time to convince Harry to leave when the aquarium closed. There was an unexpected guest in the flat. A short man with grey, close-cropped hair, and the way he held himself showed he was a military man. At that moment, he was quite out of breath. 

"Hi, Dad," said Harry as he entered the flat. "Who's the ex-army man?" The man looked shocked to see the small boy. 

"I didn't know you had a son," said the military man. Sherlock ignored him.

"Hello, Harry. This is John Watson. He might be staying with us soon." Harry nodded and turned to John.

"Hiya, Mr Watson. Where did you serve?" John looked quite surprised at the question. Harry smiled.

"Umm . . . Afghanistan. How did you know?" Harry went through a list of things he had picked up, looking at Sherlock for guidance occasionally. John was dumbstruck. "You're basically a carbon copy of your father," he said. Harry beamed. 

"Well," said John, "I best be off. I think I'll see you tomorrow."


	6. Chapter 6

John Watson did come back the next day. In fact, he moved in the next day. Within a week, he was basically a second father to Harry. He was constantly astounded by the boy's intellect, even more than he was by Sherlock's. Both Sherlock and Harry found this very entertaining. However, there was one thing that only Harry was picking up on. It seemed that John was slowly falling for the mysterious detective. Harry, though not particularly good at it, had watched enough crappy soaps to see when love was in the air. He had confronted Sherlock about it, and the detective had gone bright red. It was funny to see them dancing around each other, John with a new girlfriend just about every week, and Sherlock with his emotionless facade.

After about a month of this, Harry did the only logical thing. He sat them both down on the sofa as if they were clients, and began to talk to them.

"It has come to my attention that the two of you are avoiding something. It is something that even a blind man could see. I will be starting school next week, so you two will be spending a long time alone together. Might I recommend you put aside your pride and admit you have feelings for each other?" John opened his mouth to protest, but Harry kept on talking. "John, every single one of your girlfriends has been tall, slightly boring, and will almost always be wearing a dark overcoat, much like my father sitting next to you. I have made reservations at a restaurant somewhere, ask Mrs Hudson, and you are going to stop ignoring your feelings and confront them like the adults you are. Thank you." Harry stepped out of the room and went to read on his bed.

Sherlock and John looked at each other.

"That bloody kid," said John. They shared an awkward laugh, then relaxed slightly. "So," said John, "Was he right?" Sherlock sat silently for a moment.

"I think so. I guess we'll find out tonight."

"I wonder which restaurant it is," said John.

"The Ritz, most likely. There was a rather large sum of money transferred to my account this morning by my brother, Mycroft. I have a feeling he might be in on it too. He does adore Harry."

John looked astonished. An army wage did not get you to the Ritz. They sat in silence for a few minutes. It gradually grew more awkward until Harry burst through the door and dove onto the floor. He picked up the remote and turned on the TV, flicking through channels until he was on CBBC. Horrible Histories was on, the one show that Harry could never miss. John and Sherlock laughed and the tension resolved itself. Everyone in the family loved the show, even Sherlock. It was the only history that he knew. Harry was constantly making references and talking about it, so it was worth it. 

While Sherlock taught Harry everything he would need to know academically, John taught him how to talk to people and how to be social. The one thing that Sherlock had taught him was too never say any deductions while at school. It would lead to nothing but insults, he had said. Harry couldn't figure out why, but that was something he knew better than to question. 

Because school for Harry was starting the next day, there was little time for John and Sherlock to discuss the events of the morning. They were both fine with that. Harry had been looking forward to school since he had moved in with Sherlock. Learning was such a fun thing for him, and Sherlock had said that if he got good scores in everything he would be allowed to start working cases and going to crime scenes. That was the best motivation for Harry and he made a vow to work as hard as possible on every subject.

* * *

When the evening came, Sherlock and John were dressed their best, both trying very hard not to blush.

"You look very nice, Sherlock."

"You too, John," he replied. Mrs Hudson tutted and ushered them out of the door into a waiting taxi. They drove off into the night. Mrs Hudson turned to Harry.

"Well done for making them see sense. Now, you've got a big day tomorrow, so you go get ready for bed and don't wait up for your father." Harry nodded and ran up the stairs into his room. His brand new uniform was hanging off his wardrobe door handle. The uniform consisted of a white button-down shirt, a blue and yellow striped tie, black dress pants, and a navy blue blazer. His brand new school shoes were sitting on the floor next to his wardrobe. Harry stared at it excitedly. He was going to school tomorrow! Harry smiled again and changed into his pyjamas then climbed into bed and almost immediately fell asleep. 

Four hours later, Sherlock and John made their way up the stairs to the flat, holding hands. Both of them were more than a little drunk. The stumbled through the hallway and into Sherlock's room. They then collapsed on the bed and passes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I can't believe it has 13 kudos! I wasn't expecting any :) It really means a lot!


	7. Chapter 7

Harry woke up at 6 on the dot. Even though school didn't start for nearly two hours, he got up immediately and got changed into his uniform. It took him a while to figure out how to tie his tie, but once he did he ran out of his room and into the kitchen. John and Sherlock weren't up so he ran into Sherlock's room. The last thing he expected to see was both of them fully dressed tangled in each other's arms on top of the duvet. He didn't think too much about it and instead woke them by yelling rather loudly.

"Wh-what?" said John. 

"I've got school today!" exclaimed Harry. Both men sat straight up. They looked at each other, slightly confused. Then they groaned and rubbed their heads. 

"I had way too much to drink last night," said John. Sherlock nodded in agreement. They both stood up, struggling to keep their balance as the hangover set in. 

"Well, we should get ready then," said Sherlock.

"Okay," said John. He kissed Sherlock on the cheek and left the room. Sherlock stood there, dumbstruck for a few seconds, then he came back to his senses and told Harry to get himself some breakfast. Harry obliged happily, thinking about the interesting people he was going to meet today. As he reached the kitchen, he saw there was a box of Coco Pops on the bench. There was a note attached. 

Good luck with your first day. I thought you might need some extra energy.

\- Mrs Hudson.

Harry smiled. He wasn't allowed chocolate cereal very often because it was bad for him, so he poured himself a massive bowl. It almost overflowed when he added milk. After carefully transferring the bowl to the table, he ate it all as fast as he could, making sure that he didn't get drops of milk on his uniform. Once he was done, he washed his bowl and grabbed his backpack. Inside was a couple of exercise books, a pencil case, and a Nancy Drew book. Harry loved the young detective and all of her books. Upon reading the first one, he had begged Sherlock and John to buy him the rest. They gave in eventually and he had been reading at least one a week.

"Hurry up!" Called Harry as he sat in the hallway. Sherlock and John weren't ready yet and he was getting worried. The last thing he wanted to be was late on the first day. Finally, Sherlock and John emerged from their rooms. They both took some paracetamol then John made Harry his lunch. The left at 7:00, leaving half an hour to complete the six-minute walk to St Mary's Bryanston Square Primary School. It took all of Harry's self-control to not sprint ahead of John and Sherlock. Instead, he held Sherlock's hand and walked beside them.

"Hey, Dad, is John going to be my other dad?" He asked. Both men went bright red.

"I don't know. You'll have an answer in a few months," Sherlock replied. He and John looked at each other then quickly looked away. The rest of the walk was in silence, no-one really feeling the need to talk. 

They arrived outside of the gates a few minutes later. The school hadn't actually opened yet, so they waited around for someone from the school to come. Several more sets of parents arrived, all with their own toddlers. Several people congratulated them on raising a child. Sherlock and Harry held back laughs as John tried to explain that he wasn't actually Harry's dad, but he could no longer use the argument that he wasn't gay, or that he and Sherlock weren't together, as both of those things had been proven false. 

Finally, the gates opened and the new parents were lead to one of the school assembly halls. There were around a hundred chairs set up with some space left on the floor for the kids to sit. The seats were quickly filled up. Harry was one of the first children to sit at the front of the hall. The others took a long time to separate from their parents. There was quite a bit of crying. Harry sighed and began to deduct the children and parents around them. The couple closest to him had a large white dog and a black cat. Neither of them wanted to be there. A child sitting a few metres away was extremely spoiled and very overweight. The blond mop of hair was very familiar, then it dawned on Harry. He scanned the crowd, his face filled with fear, but he couldn't see the Dursleys. He looked back at the child and saw that it wasn't Dudley, just some other kid. Harry relaxed. He was safe.

Once the crowd had settled down the Headmistress stepped on stage.

"Welcome, new students and their parents. Here at St Mary's Bryanston Primary School, we believe in hard work, integrity, courage, curiosity, and compassion." The lady droned on and on, Harry zoned out after doing a quick deduction. She was in her late thirties, with two, no three, young children and a golden retriever. She was having an affair with . . . Harry looked around the room . . . the deputy headmaster. Harry stifled a yawn and decided this would be the perfect time to work on his Mind Palace. At the moment it was just an unfurnished 221b, but that didn't have enough rooms, so he was redesigning it to better fit his purpose. 

Harry was so engrossed in his work, he didn't notice that the assembly had ended until all the kids around him began to stand up. He quickly followed suit. The parents were told to go home and to pick up the kids at three or twelve depending on whether they were doing a full day or a half-day. Harry saw that all the other kids were being led out of the hall and made a quick decision. He sprinted through the crowd of adults and ran into John and Sherlock.

"See you later Dad, John," he said while hugging them. Then he sprinted back to meet up with the other kids. They were led into a large, colourful classroom and the day began.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry arrived home and flopped onto his bed, sad and bored out of his mind. Sherlock knocked lightly on the doorframe.

"Hey, Harry. Rough day?" Harry groaned in response. Sherlock sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. Harry turned and sat up.

"It was sooo boring. None of the kids knew how to read properly and we spent the whole day going over the sounds of the alphabet. No one wanted to be my friend and several kids called me 'four eyes'." Harry sighed. "I thought school was supposed to be fun." Sherlock pulled the young boy into a hug. 

"Well," he said, "you don't have to go. I can homeschool you, then you can come on cases with me. You can do other things to make friends." Harry's face lit up immediately. 

"Would you really do that?" asked Harry

"Of course," Sherlock replied. Harry beamed and hugged Sherlock again.

"Thank you, Dad." 

From that day on, a new routine was formed. Every day, Harry would get up and watch some TV, then Sherlock would come and teach him all about the world, maths, English, and every other subject that came to mind. The one that they spent the most time on was chemistry. Then they would go on a case and Harry would try to solve it first, only asking if he was truly stuck. Then Sherlock would go over his deductions and point out any mistakes. Then they would go home and John would fill in the gaps of Sherlock's schooling with online courses. After that, the three of them would go through London. Harry would be searching for new friends, which rarely happened, and Sherlock and John would become closer.

This continued for around seven years, then Sherlock proposed. John, of course, said yes. Everyone was in high spirits as the wedding was planned. It was a glorious occasion. There were only around thirty guests, as neither John nor Sherlock had many friends, but they didn't mind. Harry was so happy to finally see his dads getting married. It had been years since he'd called either by their names and was excited that they were both going to be his legal fathers.

Many tears were shed that day, by Harry, Lestrade, Mrs Hudson, Molly Hooper and her new boyfriend, Jim, and the grooms themselves. Even Mycroft looked as if he might smile. The loudest sniffles were from the Holmes parents. Quite the opposite from their cold children, the Holmes parents were two of the happiest and emotional people Harry had ever met. It was quite funny.

When the day ended, Harry was exhausted and had a bit of a headache. John had let him have champagne as a treat, but Harry reckoned he might have drunk too much. He put all thoughts of his pain aside and went to congratulate his dads. They were grinning like fools as they climbed into a taxi. Harry almost climbed in with them, then stepped back and closed the door. He found Mrs Hudson and took a taxi with her back to the flat.

The next day, Harry woke at around midday. Sherlock and John had already left for their honeymoon. His suit was lying crumpled on the floor where he had left it last night. He picked it up and hung it back in his wardrobe, then he went to the living room and watched TV with a bowl of Coco Pops.

"Good morning, Harry," said Mrs Hudson as she walked into the flat. 

"Mornin'," said Harry. 

"Here's your post," she said as she threw a pile of envelopes onto the sofa. Harry thanked her and picked up the pile. He skipped through all the congratulatory letters from friends that couldn't make the wedding and all the bills. All that was left was a thick, yellow envelope that smelled faintly of lemon. The envelope was sealed with a wax insignia. A badger, an eagle, a snake, and a lion curled around an H. He flipped it over and in neat, green cursive, his name and address were written.

Mr H. Potter,  
The upstairs bedroom,   
221b Baker Steet, Marylebone, London.

Harry looked at it suspiciously, then carefully inspected it. He could see no signs that it was dangerous, but he didn't want to take any chances. Going into the kitchen, he grabbed his chemistry safety gear that he never used and pulled on some thick rubber gloves and safety goggles. He carefully broke the seal on the envelope and tipped the contents into his hand. Nothing bad happened, so he unfolded the letter and began to read it.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)  
Dear Mr. Potter,  
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall  
Deputy Headmistress

Harry put down the letter and laughed. All this worry and it was just a prank. He chucked the letter into the bin and went back to watching TV.

The next day, another letter arrived, and the next, even more. Harry was starting to get annoyed. He wished his dads were home so he could tell them, but he didn't want to disturb their honeymoon. Instead, he just sat through it, every day throwing out dozens of letters. It got to the point where there were so many he began burning them in the fireplace.

When Sherlock and John finally came back, Harry was very happy to see them, but unbelievably annoyed at the sender of the letters. He gave his dads a day to settle back in, then told them all about the letters. They laughed at first, then got annoyed at the sender too. They decided not to do anything though, and instead decided to wait it out and see what would happen on the 31st. A date that just so happened to be Harry's birthday.

The day dawned and nothing unusual happened. Harry woke at a usual time and walked into the kitchen to see Sherlock making waffles and John arranging gifts on the table.

"Good morning guys!" he said and gave them each a hug. They sat down at the table and Harry opened his presents. Sherlock bought him a whole range of new chemicals and substances for his chemistry experiments, John got him a full box set of Horrible Histories DVDs and books, Lestrade gave him an old real police badge with a note saying to never let Sherlock have it, Mrs Hudson's gift was a large selection of games and a DS, the last gift was from Molly Hooper, it was the game operation. Harry thanked Sherlock and John, then went to his room to start reading the books he had received.

Around halfway through the day, after Harry had finished reading most of the books, there was a loud rumbling and the apartment shook slightly. Bloody lorries, he thought to himself, then he returned to his book. The rumbling didn't stop. Harry got up and walked to the lounge to see what was making the noise. After checking the window, he saw that it was not made by lorries. He walked around the room. The noise seemed to be coming from the fireplace. Suddenly, hundreds of letters flew into the room from the chimney, covering the floor and floating through the room. Harry looked out the window again and saw dozens of owls fly past.

"DAD! DAD!" he yelled. Sherlock and John sprinted into the room, then stopped when they saw the letters. John grabbed Harry's arm and pulled him out of the room.

"I think we should leave," said Sherlock. Everyone grabbed their coats and left the flat. John hailed a taxi and the clambered in.

"Where do you want to go?" asked the cabbie.

"Scotland Yard, please." The cabbie nodded and drove off. Harry sat in the back, silently wondering why anyone would want to do this to him and his family.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so I know I said I wouldn't be updating, but since I no longer have school due to the lockdown, I have a lot more free time than I was expecting. I still won't be updating often, as my other project takes priority, but I might publish every two weeks or so, then I'll go back to posting more often.
> 
> Comments are highly appreciated, negative and positive feedback welcome.

Scotland Yard was bustling with police officers. No one really noticed the family as they made their way to Lestrade's office. 

"What do you want, Sherlock?" asked Lestrade in a tired voice. 

"We have an issue. We have reason to believe that Harry is being stalked, and it has escalated quite considerably." Lestrade sat up instantly. He looked at the worried faces of John and Sherlock and swore silently. 

"Okay. You guys try and find a place to stay, and we'll send some officers to inspect your flat." He grabbed his phone and began calling officers together. John pulled out his phone and began looking for hotels with vacancies. He found one and booked a room, then the three Holmes left the building and hailed a taxi.

Thirty minutes later, Harry was playing pokemon on his DS, John was reading the news, and Sherlock was pacing up and down the hotel room.

"Sherl, honey, relax," said John, "The police are going to sort it out. We'll be fine here."

"That is not relaxing, John. The police are incompetent." Sherlock continued pacing. John got a notification on his phone. It was from Lestrade.

'We can't find anything, but your flat is filled with hundreds of letters. What happened here? We've got a cleanup crew in here, so you should be able to come back in a couple of days.' 

Everyone relaxed slightly. As much as Sherlock looked down on the police, he knew that they could help him. 

They didn't do much for the rest of the day. They were all feeling tired and anxious. Harry tried not to think about the letters, but he hadn't had enough time to grab any other games, and he'd already finished Pokemon Alpha Sapphire. He decided to restart and do the Nuzlocke challenge. He found it quite easy. He had already memorized all the stats for every single Pokemon and had uncovered a few easter eggs that helped him out quite a bit.

"Who do you reckon is sending the letters?" asked Harry.

"I'm not sure. I can't see why anyone would do this. It doesn't make any sense," replied Sherlock.

"Have you asked Mycroft to look into Hogwarts? That could give us a lead," suggested Harry. Sherlock nodded and took out his phone.

"Brother mine, could you be so kind as to do some research into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? Don't laugh, they have been plaguing Harry with letters. Ask Lestrade if you don't believe me." Sherlock hung up with a sigh. "He's gonna look into it. He'll text if he finds anything." Harry and John nodded. Harry felt slightly better. If anyone could find out about Hogwarts, it was Mycroft. 

The family sat in silence for several hours, all of them waiting anxiously for Mycroft to reply. 

Eventually, he did.

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is a place of immense secrecy," read Sherlock from Mycroft's text. "Every year, twenty or so children that have been signed up for secondary schools will be taken off the register with no explanation. Before this happens, parents will often report being sent hundreds of letters from this mysterious school. That was all I could find. Any details about the school itself are for the Prime Minister's eyes only." Sherlock sighed.

"Relax, Sherl. I'm sure it'll be okay." John wrapped his arm around Sherlock's waist and led him out of the room. "We'll see you in the morning, Harry. Please don't call room service." Harry bid them goodnight and tried his best to go to sleep.

After an hour of tossing and turning, Harry sat up and turned his DS back on. He was pretty close to finishing the game, again. The one issue with having a Mind Palace with an entire floor dedicated to Pokemon meant he could complete all the games pretty quickly. He knew every route, every battle statistic, all the Gym leaders' pokemon and how to defeat them. 

Eventually, he managed to fall into a fitful sleep. When he woke at eight the next morning, he was exhausted. He sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. After putting on his glasses, he got up and made himself a giant cup of instant coffee. It may have tasted terrible, but four shots did wonders for waking up in the morning. Unfortunately, he drank eight shots instead and got a bad case of the shakes. He sighed and clenched his fists. Sorting out his coffee problem was a task for another day. 

In an effort to distract himself from the shaking, Harry made a cup of English Breakfast Tea, then two more to give to Sherlock and John. 

They were sleeping when he opened the door to their room. He put the cups of tea down and woke them by saying their names gently. 

"Good morning, Dad, Dad," he said. They didn't say anything, both too tired to think straight. He turned all the lights on and left. The two men groaned and got up. 

"You could've given us five more minutes," complained John.

"I could've, but the buffet breakfast finishes in forty minutes, and the waffles here are supposed to be incredible," said Harry. John sighed and ruffled his hair.

"You head down, we'll be with you soon." Harry nodded and pulled on a hoodie, then ran down to the dining hall.

The tables were laden with breakfast foods and drinks. Harry saw a pot of coffee and was pleased to find it was actually not instant. He poured himself a cup, then piled his plate high with pancakes and waffles, then drowned them in syrup. He also grabbed a glass of orange juice then sat in an empty table in the back corner of the room.

A few minutes later, John and Sherlock came down, hand in hand. They each grabbed a plate of toast and a cup of coffee.

"Thanks for the tea, Harry," said Sherlock.

"No problem," replied Harry before going back to eating his waffles. John looked at his son's empty coffee cup disapprovingly.

"You really should stop drinking that, Harry. It'll mess up your brain," he tutted.

"At least I don't smoke in hospitals," said Harry, looking pointedly at Sherlock. John looked at him, disappointed.

"It was one time," he said, raising his hands in defence, "and we made a deal Harry." Harry smirked and got up to grab another cup of coffee.

By the time they finished breakfast, Harry was shaking so hard he had to clench every muscle in his boy just to walk to the lift. Sherlock looked at him, slightly worried, but John didn't pick up on it, unsurprisingly. Harry had always found it funny that even after living with Sherlock for years, John struggled with the simplest of deductions.

"I'm gonna go back to the room," said Harry. John and Sherlock nodded and said they'd see him later, then the doors closed and Harry immediately started to shake uncontrollably.

"I am never drinking coffee again," he muttered to himself. It may be nice in the moment, but it was not worth it. He sighed and clenched his fists. There were worse things that could happen, but when you can hear and feel your heart beating way faster than it's supposed to, things start to seem pretty goddamn bad. 

Harry was pacing the room playing pokemon again when John and Sherlock came in. Sherlock's arms were filled with letters. Harry stopped pacing and immediately started shaking again. John looked at him worriedly.

"Right, I am making a new rule, one shot of coffee a day. No matter what. Okay, Harry?" John sounded sterner than usual. He was on edge because of the letters, thought Harry.

"Yeah, sure," replied Harry. "How many letters did we get?" he asked. 

"At least a hundred. These people really want to talk to you, Harry." Sherlock's phone started ringing. He put down the letters and picked it up.

"Mycroft. So you've found out more about the school? What do you mean wizards? Are you quite sure? There's no such thing as magic, brother mine. I don't really care what the Prime Minister says, the man's crazy. Magic is impossible. Call me again when you find some real information." Sherlock hung up and flopped onto the sofa. 

"You okay, Sherl?" asked John. Sherlock shook his head. John pulled the taller man into a hug and they stayed there for a moment. "I know it's confusing, but we'll sort it out. We always do."

"But it doesn't make sense. There's no such thing as magic. It can all be put down to coincidence," said Sherlock.

"But you said that the universe would never be so lazy," said Harry, remembering the argument Sherlock and Mycroft had so long ago.

"Well, that may be so, but it doesn't excuse the scientific impossibility of magic," replied Sherlock.

"But the whole point of magic is that it's outside of what we consider possible. It doesn't have to obey the scientific laws of the universe because it's not scientific," Harry said. He had always wanted magic to be real, because who hadn't, and had spent a considerable amount of time thinking about ways it could exist.

Sherlock's phone started ringing again. 

"Hello, Mycroft. Do you have any real information to give me this time? Okay, I suppose that makes sense. We'll be right over." He hung up. "Mycroft has offered to let us stay in his manor to wait for the situation to clear up. Usually, I would refuse, but these are very different circumstances." John and Harry nodded, then the three of them repacked what was scattered around the rooms.

A few minutes later, the family was standing outside the hotel waiting for Mycroft's car to pull up. When the black vehicle finally arrived, the three of them climbed in and were driven to the English countryside.

* * *

Around an hour later, the younger Holmes's family were being driven through the grounds of Holmes House. House was quite an understatement, thought Harry.

There was a grand gravel driveway fringed with a traditional English wood. Where the wood ended, there was a massive lawn with a hedge maze and statues all around. The driveway split and went around a large fountain made of white marble. The Manor itself was three stories tall, made of red brick and covered in ivy. Harry could tell that each branch of the vine had been perfectly guided to give the nicest possible result. The dozens of windows were all in perfect condition and there was not a shingle was out of place and there was a small amount of smoke coming out of every chimney. 

The car slowed to a stop and the doors were opened by the chauffeur. Harry stared in awe at the massive building before him. He had never seen it before, as the relationship between Sherlock and his brother was far from familiar.

The chauffeur opened the front door and they were led inside. 

The foyer was rather sparsely decorated, nothing more than a few paintings and a coat stand. The rest of the house was quite similar. Mycroft was hardly one for sentimentality. The man himself was not there to greet him. In fact, Harry didn't see him until after they'd all been led to their rooms and dinner had been announced.

A butler led Harry to the large dining room. Sherlock and John were already there, having a heated discussion about magic. Upon seeing his son, John stopped talking and turned to Harry.

"How's your room, Harry?" he asked.

"It's so cool. Uncle Mycroft left heaps of games for my DS and there was a view of the stables and it was so massive." The three men smiled and sat down at the table. Dinner was served a few minutes later, a traditional English roast with about as much seasoning as you would expect. Harry would've preferred fish and chips, at least that would taste like something, even if it was ketchup, but he didn't complain about the lightly salted roast chicken.

When dinner ended, Mycroft left to his study. John, Sherlock, and Harry moved to a living room and watched TV together like they did most nights. None of them spoke of magic or letters. The only thing that was said were Sherlock's comments about the shows they were watching. 

They stayed up until midnight like they always did on Harry's birthday. When the clock struck twelve, John and Sherlock wished him Happy Birthday and apologised for not having a cake. Harry didn't mind of course. He could imagine that if he was still with the Dursleys he would be lucky if they acknowledged his birthday.

The three of them were walking past the front door to their rooms when their idle chat was interrupted by a massive boom. It happened again. Someone was trying to get in, and Harry had a feeling they were not friendly.


	10. Chapter 10

There was another boom, shaking the floor they were standing on. Sherlock grabbed his gun from inside his jacket and raised it at the door. It was hit another time and Harry saw cracks forming in the surface. He could see that it would only take two more hits of the same force before it was broken open. 

There were another two hits and the door broke in two. Standing in the doorway was a massive figure. It took a moment for Harry to register what he was seeing as the man was so large. 

Standing at over two meters tall and at least a meter wide, the bearded man in the doorway was quite a terrifying sight. Harry hid behind John who grabbed Sherlock's hand. 

"Who are you?" asked Sherlock. His voice and hands were shaking. "You're trespassing on private property. I will warn you, I am armed!"

The giant ma stepped through the doorway and looked at the ruined door sadly. He picked up the two pieces and placed them back in the doorway. Then he muttered something under his breath and pointed the pink umbrella he was holding at the door. Suddenly, the door looked brand new. Sherlock and John gasped. Harry smiled slightly. So magic was real, he thought to himself. 

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could ye? It's not been an easy journey."

"Usually, I would be happy to," said Sherlock coldly, "but you are trespassing on my brother's property and just destroyed his front door, so I must say no." The giant smirked.

"S'pose you're right, Dursley," said the intruder.

"I am not Vernon Dursley, and if you had any part in placing Harry in his 'care' then I would kindly ask you to leave, and if you refuse, I will not hesitate to call the police," said Sherlock sharply. The giant looked quite taken aback. 

"If you're not Dursley, then who are ye?"

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, this is my husband, John Watson, and our son, Harry Holmes." The giant looked quite shocked.

"Why're you looking after Harry Potter?"

"Because, as I said, the Dursleys were not fit to take up the job. And his name is Harry Holmes," Sherlock said. "Now, I would like to know why you, an animal lover from Scotland who most likely lives in a small wooden cottage on the edge of a forest, have broken down my brother's front door in the middle of the night. I would also like to know who you are."

"I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. And this," he said, reaching into one of his hundreds of pockets, "is for you." he brought out a slightly crushed box and handed it to Harry. The young boy analyzed it quickly and, once he saw that there were no traps or dangerous things, opened it. Inside was a large chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday Harry' written on it in green icing. Still wary, Harry closed the box and put it down on a side table.

"Thank you," said Harry. "But what exactly is Hogwarts?" he asked.

"It's a school where kids with magic go to learn how to use their powers. You're a wizard Harry." Hagrid looked at Harry expectantly, looking for surprise or disbelief. Instead, Harry had a wistful expression on his face.

"I suppose it makes sense. I've done some strange things that I always put down to circumstance, but I suppose it could be magic," Harry said.

"Just before we send Harry off to some school so secret the Prime Minister barely knows what it is, would you be able to prove the existence of magic?" inquired Sherlock. 

"I'm not supposed ter do magic, 'specially not in fron' of muggles, but I guess you're not gonna let him go if I don'," Hagrid sighed and raised his pink umbrella, pointing it at an innocent vase. He muttered something under his breath, and the vase exploded.

"Jeez!" exclaimed John, grabbing Sherlock's hand. 

"Cool," said Harry, examining the remains of the vase. He looked at his fathers. "Can I go?" he asked.

"Perhaps. I think we might need a bit more information first. I don't want you to be in any danger," answered Sherlock. Harry and Hagrid nodded. 

"Well," said Hagrid, "We need to buy your school supplies tomorrow, so I'll just stay overnight, if that's okay?" He raised an eyebrow at Sherlock who nodded. Then the four of them went their separate ways, Harry, John and Sherlock back to their rooms, Hagrid to the nearest sofa. It sank down slightly as he sat down. He sighed and pulled his coat closer around himself. There was something strange about Harry, Hagrid thought, he's going to do incredible things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short. The next one will be longer. Thank you so much for reading and commenting!  
> All comments are awesome.  
> Thank you guys! :)  
> Also, I realise these past couple chapters have been pretty dull, but the story should start properly soon.


	11. Chapter 11

Harry woke with sun streaming on his face. He had just had the most interesting dream. Then he felt the unfamiliar quilt and silk sheets. He put his glasses on and looked around. He was at Mycroft's home, but that didn't mean the events of his dream were true. They just happened to be set here. 

Harry yawned and got up, grabbing a dressing gown as he left the room. He felt like he was in a hotel, there was nothing personal or homely about Mycroft's house. It was strangely sterile even though there was nothing that wasn't a priceless artefact that was at least a hundred years old. 

The ornate rug in the landing was scratchy and kind of ugly. Harry wasn't a big fan of old-fashioned things like castles or oil paintings. He liked learning about them, but seeing them in real life was weird. They had been made by people long dead. It just made him uncomfortable. Especially the suits of armour. 

Harry walked down the large staircase and was surprised to see a large shape on one of the sofas. Harry realised it was Hagrid, the man from his 'dream'. Harry pinched his arm and winced. So, the night before hadn't been a dream. That meant magic was real, and Harry was a wizard. The boy almost yelled in delight but refrained from doing it in fear of waking Hagrid.

He strolled into the dining room with a giant smile plastered on his face. 

"Morning, Mycroft," he said cheerily to the eldest Holmes. Mycroft said nothing, not even bothering to look up from his newspaper. Harry walked up to the table and saw a large range of cereal boxes and a jug of milk. He made himself a bowl of coco-pops but felt too excited to eat. 

"Harry," said Mycroft, folding up his newspaper and coming up to the table, "Who's the man on my sofa?" he asked. 

"That's Hagrid. He's from my new school!" Harry began to explain everything he knew about Hogwarts and magic, and everything he picked up from the way Hagrid looked and acted.

He went on for a long time, just thinking out loud.

"I'm gonna be a wizard!" he said after a long rant about the friends he could make. Mycroft smiled at the boy's excitement, a rare sight. 

"Well then, I think we should wake up Hagrid and give our guest some breakfast," Mycroft said, leading Harry into the sitting room where Hagrid was snoring. "Excuse me, sir," said Mycroft softly. The giant man stopped snoring and opened his eyes slightly. His face was filled with confusion, then his beetle-black eyes settled on Harry and smiled.

"Harry Potter. Nice to see you," he said, sitting up.

"It's Holmes," corrected Harry. "Harry Holmes." Once again, Hagrid looked confused, but he said nothing. Instead, he sat up and began rummaging around in his massive coat until he pulled out a packet of raw sausages.

"There's breakfast in the dining hall, if you would prefer," said Mycroft, wrinkling his nose at the sulphuric smell of pork. 

"Uh, okay then," said Hagrid, awkwardly shoving the sausages back into his coat. Mycroft didn't look overly happy at the unhygienic food handling but didn't comment. "I'll follow you."

* * *

Around an hour later, Hagrid, Sherlock, and John were standing in the foyer, arguing with Hagrid.

"I don't see why we can't come," said John angrily. "He's our son."

"You're muggles! I can't just bring yer to Diagon Alley! And he's not your son, he's James and Lily's son." Hagrid's reply was a step too far for John and Sherlock. There was a small smile on John's face, and he laughed slightly.

"We have the legal documents that disagree, Hagrid. And why would Harry's 'real' parents leave him with such awful people?" asked Sherlock. John took a slightly less logical approach and punched Hagrid in the gut with all his strength. It barely fazed the giant man, but John's kick between his legs certainly did. 

Less than a minute later, Hagrid was on the ground, blood streaming from his nose and John being held back by both Sherlock and Mycroft.

"He is our son!" yelled John, trying to escape from Sherlock and Mycroft's grip.

"It's okay, babe," Sherlock said softly, trying to calm his husband down. It seemed to work, as John stopped fighting, but he still looked so angry.

"He's our son," he said, his voice breaking. He collapsed into Sherlock's arms and Mycroft stepped away, offering Hagrid his hand. Hagrid shook his head and slowly got to his feet, backing away from the couple in front of him.

Sherlock was holding John close to his chest, whispering words of comfort and stroking his hair, occasionally sending glares at Hagrid.

"I meant no disrespect," said Hagrid, holding his nose in an attempt to get the blood to stop. Sherlock and John ignored him. Mycroft just looked at him disapprovingly.

"If you are an example of the average wizard in your society, then it is not one that I wish my nephew to join," said Mycroft, his voice laden with hate. Hagrid hung his head in shame but did nothing to defend himself or other wizards. 

Mycroft turned to his brother. 

"I'm going to do as much investigating as I can into Hogwarts. There may be another, better school that we can send him to. Until then," he turned to Hagrid, "you are not welcome here. Leave now, or I will have you forcibly removed." Hagrid tried to apologise, but was met only with harsh words. Eventually, he turned and left the Holmes House.

"I hope he doesn't come back," said Harry causing everyone to jump.

"How much did you hear?" asked John.

"All of it. I was just around the corner." John and Sherlock quickly stood up and enveloped the boy in a warm hug. "I'm fine," he said, pulling away. "I don't really care what that guy says." He was lying and everyone knew it, but they let go anyway. 

"I'm going to have a chat with the Prime Minister," said Mycroft, taking his phone out and walking away. 

Just as Harry, John, and Sherlock were leaving the power, there was a knock on the front door. Harry opened it, making sure the chain was securely in place.

Standing at the top of the steps was a stern-looking woman wearing emerald green robes that reached the floor. Her dark hair was in a tight bun at the top of her head and she looked very impatient.

Harry looked at her and did a few quick deductions. She was a teacher and had been for a long time. She was also a deputy headmistress. Harry remembered the letter.

"Hello, Professor McGonagall," said Harry. The woman looked shocked, but quickly regained her serious demeanour.

"Harry Potter?" she asked with a heavy Scottish accent.

"It's Holmes, actually," said Harry. 

"What do you mean?"

"I was adopted out of the Dursley's so-called 'care' by my father, Sherlock Holmes," answered Harry.

"Oh. Well then, Harry Holmes, I assume you've heard of Hogwarts." Harry nodded. "Would I be able to come in?" Harry nodded again and unchained the door, allowing the professor into the house.

"You must be Mr Holmes," said McGonagall to Sherlock. Sherlock nodded.

"One of four in this house," said Sherlock. McGonagall raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "My brother," he gestured behind him, "my son," he pointed to Harry, "and my husband," he pointed at John, who waved at the professor.

"Your hu- very well. As you can probably guess, I am here from Hogwarts. The headmaster would like to know why you sent Hagrid back, and whether or not Harry would be starting term with us."

Just as John was about to explain, Mycroft came back. He looked at McGonagall briefly before turning to his family.

"The Prime Minister has assured me that there is no better school than Hogwarts that speaks English, but given that you," he turned to Harry, "are fluent in French, you could possibly be accepted at Beauxbatons in France. It's up to you." Harry thought for a moment. Though he was fluent in quite a few languages and would have no issue spending a lot of time in France, it was very far away from home.

"I think Hogwarts will do," said Harry. "It's much closer to home." If anyone had an issue with Harry's decision, they didn't make themselves known.

"Well then," said the Professor, "we need to buy your school supplies. John, Sherlock, would you care to join us?" They nodded.

"I will arrange a car for you," said Mycroft, leaving the room.

* * *

A long car ride later, Harry, Sherlock, John, and Professor McGonagall were stood outside an old pub. There was a faded sign that read 'The Leaky Cauldron'. McGonagall pushed open the door and waited for the others to follow. Harry grabbed his fathers' hands and pulled them into the pub.

They were immediately met with the strong stench of alcohol. Harry wrinkled his nose in disgust and concentrated on the people milling around.

"Can I get you anything, Minerva?" asked the toothless barman, cleaning a glass with a cloth. 

"Not today, Tom. I'm on school business." Tom nodded, then caught sight of Harry.

"Is that 'Arry Potter?" he asked, leaning over the bar to get a better look.

"No," said Harry. The barman looked crestfallen. Harry looked at him, confused. Who would be that eagre to know him? He was just some kid.

"Come on Harry," said John, pulling the boy towards the back door.

"Oi! You are Harry Potter!" exclaimed Tom. The chatter in the pub stopped and people started craning their necks to get a look at Harry.

"No, he's not. His name is Harry Holmes, and you are going to leave our son alone." John started walking faster towards the door, as did McGonagall.

"Why did they want me to be Harry Potter?" asked Harry.

"Because you are the boy who lived," answered McGonagall. She was holding a stick in her hand and she tapped it against a brick. It must have been a magic wand because the brick wriggled around, then dropped out of the wall. The hole that it left began to grow and grow until the four of them were standing before an archway.

Harry forgot all about the pub as he stared at the bustling street in front of them. 

There were dozens of colourful shopfronts, all of them adorned with enchanted decorations floating or dancing to attract customers. The customers themselves were just as interesting, all of them wearing long robes that brushed along the cobbled pavement. A lot of them had large hats that looked like something you would find in a costume shop. 

At the end of the street was a massive white building that dwarfed all the shops around it. There were large marble columns holding up an archway. 

"What is that place?" asked Harry.

"Gringotts, the wizard bank," McGonagall answered. 

"Do you use a different currency system?" asked Harry excitedly. McGonagall nodded and began to explain the different coins and how much each was worth.

"With a system like that, you'd better hope Hogwarts has a good maths programme," said John. McGonagall looked quite confused.

"We don't teach maths, only arithmancy." Sherlock and John looked rather surprised. Harry was too, though he was distracted by a passing witch talking about potions and said nothing. 

Soon the four of them were standing in the entryway of Gringotts. There was a plaque next to the door. Engraved on was a verse that sounded quite threatening.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take but do not earn

Must pay most dearly in their turn.

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours,

Theif, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

Harry shivered slightly. He had been in his fair share of banks, most of which had been robbed the day before, but none had given off such an aura of menace. Harry could tell they were hiding more than money down there, and he was going to find out what else was down there, but that would have to wait, as McGonagall had pushed open the door and was waiting for Harry to join her inside the bank.

If the outside was grand, the inside was on another level.

The grand ceiling was dozens of meters above them, and just like the walls and the outside, it was a snow-white marble. A massive chandelier hung from the ceiling, lighting up the long desks that ran along the walls. Behind each of them was a strange creature. They looked a bit like humans, except they were very short with wrinkled skin and long noses. Lots of them were counting coins or examining large jewels that were dwarfed by their long, spindly fingers.

"What are they?" asked Harry.

"They're goblins. Very intelligent, and very protective," answered McGonagall. "This is one of the safest places in the world, if you are caught attempting to steal something, the goblins will be ruthless." Harry looked at each of them warily and saw the intelligence and cunning behind their beady black eyes. 

John looked slightly frightened by the goblins and kept his hand clasped firmly on Harry's shoulder. Sherlock was having the time of his life, examining every weak point and every way that the bank could be broken into. He studied every jewel and coin from afar, calculating the approximate wealth of wizardkind.

"Are there other banks for wizards?" asked Harry. 

"No. Excuse me." the four of them had reached the end of the hall and were now standing in front of a tall desk with an old goblin sitting behind it. "We would like to access Harry Po-Holmes's vault, please." The goblin leaned over the desk and scowled at Harry.

"And does Mr Holmes have his key?" he asked in a low growl.

"Yes he does," said McGonagall, pulling a small golden key from her cloak. She handed it to the goblin who examined it for a moment before nodding in approval.

"Griphook!" he called over his shoulder. Another goblin appeared, this one quite a bit younger with black hair. "Take these four to the Potter vault, then to the Holmes vault. You'll need the clankers." Griphook nodded and grabbed a box of funny-looking bells then led them to a door at the very back of the hallway. The goblin pushed it open and led the four into a dark, stone hallway lit with flaming torches on the wall.

"The Holmes family isn't magical," said Harry to Griphook.

"They used to be. They once controlled the ministry, then they died out, or so we thought. Their fortune is yours now, Harry," said Griphook. Then the goblin whistled and a small cart came along the tracks in the ground.

John eyed it warily. "I think I'll stay up here, if that's alright." Everyone else nodded and climbed in. The second they were seated, the cart trundled off into the dark cave, leaving John behind.

The tracks began to tilt downward, and the cart started to gain speed. Within minutes, they were hurtling through the caves, turning sharply every so often and coming dangerously close to the walls. It was like a rollercoaster, and Harry thought it was awesome. Sherlock and McGonagall were having a lot less fun, both of them tightly gripping their seats, slightly green in the face. 

Eventually, the cart slowed to a stop and everyone got out quickly. They were standing in front of a large door. Griphook took the key out of his pocket and opened the door. It opened to reveal a massive room filled with thousands upon thousands of golden, silver, and bronze coins. 

"Woah," said Harry, stepping inside the room. "This is all mine?" he asked Griphook. The goblin nodded. There was a money pouch on the floor. Harry picked it up and shoved some coins into it. It felt weird knowing that he was holding more money than all his pocket money from the past eight years combined. 

"Come on, Mr Holmes. There is still the other vault for you to see," Griphook said. Harry nodded and hurried out the door. It slammed shut behind him and Griphook locked it before climbing back into the cart. 

They went even deeper underground, the cart going even faster, passing waterfalls and flashes of fire that dropped out of view before Harry could get a good look at them.

It took a lot longer for the cart to stop, but once it did, Griphook grabbed the clankers and handed them out. 

"You'll need these to keep the dragon away," he said, showing them how to use them and making a horrible sound.

"Th-the what?" stammered Sherlock, his face paling.

"It'll be fine, Dad," said Harry. Sherlock did not look reassured, but trusted that the goblin would not endanger them. It was clear that all goblins hated wizards, but Sherlock could tell that Griphook was not going to put them in harm's way unnecessarily. 

"Start shaking them," said Griphook as the group rounded a corner. They entered a massive cave that was almost completely black other than a large white mound in the corner. It took a few seconds for Harry to fully comprehend what he was looking at. It made him stop in his tracks.

Cowering in the back of the cave was a massive white dragon covered in scars. It raised its tattered wings weakly before retreating even further. There was a bloodied chain wrapped around its neck and manacles keeping it firmly in place. Even though it was a terrifying creature, the sight of it made Harry so sad. It retreated back further and further until it was attempting to climb the wall. It was trying to get away from the noise, or rather what it associated with it.

"You've trained it to expect pain when it hears the clankers," said Harry softly, looking into the dragon's pale eyes that were sunken deep into its scarred face.

"You're a smart boy," said Griphook.

"You tortured it. You enslaved it and tortured it," said Harry, turning to face Griphook, his eyes burning with fury.

"No," said Griphook. "The wizards did this. They do not trust us to protect their riches. We do not need this dragon." Harry felt sick. This was the society he was joining. 

"I will free you," he said to the dragon. It tilted its head slightly, as if it understood him.

"Maybe you will," said the dragon. Harry took a step back in shock and looked at his companions to see if they had heard it. "They cannot hear me, young one. You were blessed with serpent-tongue. You can speak to and understand all snakes, and all dragons willing to listen." 

"Hurry up, Harry," Sherlock said, his voice wavering slightly. Harry turned to see that the rest of them had reached the other end of the cave and were waiting for him. He sprinted after them, turning back at the last second, vowing to save the dragon, even if it took him years.

The second they left the cave, everyone put down their clankers and Harry heard the clinking of chains as the dragon slid back to the floor of the cave. 

"That's inhumane, what wizards have done to that dragon," said Sherlock. 

"Well, wizards aren't quite human," said Griphook coldly, glaring at McGonagall, as if expecting an argument. She said nothing and the four of them continued walking through the bank, passing vault after vault until they reached one that clearly hadn't been touched in years. Every single crevice in the iron door was coated in dust. Griphook raised a finger and stroked the centre of the door. It dissolved, revealing a vault that made the Potter's fortune look like spare change.

"What the fuck," breathed Harry as he stepped through the doorway, walking in between towering piles of gold. He went over to one of the walls where a jewel-encrusted dagger was hanging next to a meter-long sword. On a shelf right next to it was a large collection of knives and other daggers. He picked up a small silver dagger with a serpent wrapped around the hilt. The sheath was covered in runes and jewels. Harry could feel the magical energy radiating from the runes. He pulled the blade out, admiring the shining blade. 

"This is so cool," he said. "All of this is mine?" he asked Griphook. The goblin nodded. 

Harry kept on looking through the shelves until he found a silver revolver, much like the one Sherlock used, only way cooler. The grip was lacquered wood, the silver barrel covered in runes, and the trigger and hammer were pure gold. 

"Ah, the latest edition to the vault. You have a good eye," said Griphook as he looked at the gun. Harry unzipped his hoodie, revealing a shoulder holster with a far newer handgun. He switched out the holster for the one that fit the revolver then looked around for a second before finding a box of bullets. He loaded the gun with a practised hand then holstered it. He left his old gun on the shelf and zipped his hoodie back up. 

"Why on earth do you have a gun?" asked McGonagall.

"You never know what could happen. Don't worry, I have a licence," answered Harry.

"But you're a child."

"And my uncle owns the British government." The conversation ended with Sherlock receiving a withering glare from McGonagall.

"We should get going," said Griphook. Everyone agreed, and a while later, they had rejoined John and were standing on the steps of Gringotts, all ready to explore Diagon Alley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I promised a long chapter, but this is too long even by my standards. This is what happens when you don't have a life.  
> Anyway, I got past the bit that I didn't want to write so the rest of the book should come faster now.  
> Thank you so much for reading and 92 kudos is insane!!


	12. Chapter 12

"Where are we going to go first?" Harry asked McGonagall excitedly. 

"We'll start with your uniform. Madam Malkin's it right over there, but I think I might get a drink. I'm not the biggest fan of those carts," said McGonagall. Harry nodded and the witch walked off. Sherlock and John followed her, leaving Harry alone in the street. He smiled, the money bag heavy in his pocket as he raced over to the shop.

He pushed open the door, feeling slightly nervous. A small witch approached him and smiled. 

"Hogwarts, dear?" she asked. Harry nodded. "Got the lot here - another young man being fitted just now, in fact." 

She led Harry to the back of the shop where a blond boy with sharp, pale features was being fitted. He had swirling silver eyes that shone in the dim light. He was wearing long black robes that were pinned up in various places. Madam Malkin stood Harry up on a stool next to the boy, then pulled some robes over Harry's head, pinning them in various places. Harry was glad she hadn't told him to take off his hoodie.

He looked at the boy closely and did a quick deduction. Rich, proud, right-handed, and heavily influenced by his parents. Harry had a feeling there wasn't a single thought that went through his mind that someone else hadn't put there. 

"Hello," said Harry. "I'm Harry. Are you going to Hogwarts as well?" 

"Yes, I am. I'm Draco Malfoy. What's your last name?"

"Holmes," said Harry. Draco looked shocked.

"The magic in the Holmes family died out generations ago," said Draco.

"I'm adopted," said Harry. "My old family name is Potter." This made both Madam Malkin and Draco gasp. 

"You're Harry Potter?" said Draco incredulously. "Do you have the scar?" Harry nodded, really wanting to know why he was famous. 

"Yeah. Do you know why I'm famous?" Harry asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but needing the answer. Draco nodded.

"When you were a baby, there was this super dark wizard. He was the Dark Lord," Harry sniggered slightly, but Draco ignored him. "He killed hundreds of people, mainly muggles, then decided that he wanted to kill you and your family. He came to your house in the middle of the night and killed your parents, but when he tried to kill you, it backfired and the spell hit him instead. You ended his reign of terror. That's why you're famous. You're super cool."

"That is pretty cool. It's a shame I don't remember any of it, then again, the death of my birth parents doesn't seem like a fun thing to remember," said Harry. Draco nodded.

"You're all done, dear," said Madam Malkin to Draco. The boy hopped off the stool.

"Do you wanna hang out for the rest of the day?" asked Draco.

"Sure," replied Harry. 

A few minutes later the two boys were standing back on the street, their new robes wrapped up in paper. They ran around Diagon Alley, buying all their school stuff while avoiding Draco's parents. 

"I don't want them to drag me home," explained Draco when they ducked behind a piled of boxes to avoid the older Malfoys. "Where are your parents?" 

"They went back to the leaky cauldron," said Harry. Harry and Draco sat behind the crates for a long time, talking about their families and their lives. Draco was fascinated with every aspect of solving muggle crimes, and Harry wanted to know everything about the wizarding world.

"Maybe muggles aren't so bad," said Draco a long while later. Harry smiled at him, glad that his new friend was seeing sense. 

"Draco!" someone called. Draco sighed and stood up.

"I'll be off then. I do not want to anger my father. I'll write to you," he said. Harry waved goodbye as Draco walked towards a blond couple. They looked happy to see him, though his father scolded him slightly.

"Where were you Draco?" he asked.

"I was talking to a new friend," Draco replied. His parents' faces softened.

"About time you got some," said Draco's mother, patting her son's shoulder affectionately. Draco turned back to smile at Harry, then let his parents walk him out of Diagon Alley.

Harry smiled to himself as he pulled out his school list. It was quite long, and so far he only had his robes. He wandered through the shops, buying everything on his list and a few more things. He spent the most at Flourish and Blott's. There were so many books he wanted, he had to buy a bag with an undetectable expansion charm to carry them all. Harry wanted to disassemble it and figure out how the bag worked, but he knew it would be more useful whole. 

A while later, Sherlock and Professor McGonagall came out of the bar and found him reading one of the books Harry had bought. There was a smattering of blood on Sherlock's shirt.

"Did Dad get in a fight?" asked Harry, putting his book away. Sherlock nodded, but didn't elaborate.

"What else do you need to buy?" he asked.

"Just my wand. The shop is really creepy and I didn't feel like going in there alone," Harry replied, standing up. The three of them walked through the cobbled street, stopping outside an old shop-front with peeling paint and dusty windows.

"Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.," Harry said, reading the gold lettering above the door. "2403 years ago." He pushed the door open and stepped inside the dim shop. The shop appeared empty.

"Hello?" called Harry, his eyes scanning the stacks of thin boxes behind the counter. A man with silver hair and unblinking, grey eyes appeared behind the counter.

"Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Pot-Holmes?" It wasn’t a question. "You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."

Mr Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. 

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." 

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. 

"And that’s where …"

Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead with a long, white finger. 

"I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands … Well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do …"

"Yes, well, you didn't. Can we get to buying my wand please?" Harry was starting to get quite uncomfortable. This man was too close and he knew too much about Harry. Ollivander nodded and stepped back. 

"Right, of course. I apologise. Hold out your wand hand." Harry held out his right hand, assuming that's what he meant. Ollivander produced a tape measure. It started to measure Harry's height, arm length, the distance between his nostrils. It took him a second to realise that it was doing this itself, as Ollivander was searching through the boxes. 

"That's enough," said Ollivander. The tape measure crumbled to the ground and Ollivander handed Harry a wand. The second the boy took it, it was snatched from his hands. "No..." Another was handed to him, and Ollivander took that one too.

This went on for a while, the pile of wands slowly growing larger. Harry was becoming impatient when Ollivander brought another one. The second it touched Harry's fingers, a warmth spread through his arm. He brought it down in a swishing motion and sparks burst from the tip. Harry smiled and turned around, laughing slightly at the shocked look on Sherlock's face. 

Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well … how curious … how very curious …" He put Harry’s wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious … curious …"

"Sorry,’ said Harry, "but what’s curious?" 

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr Holmes. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar." Harry swallowed. "Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember … I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter … After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great."

Harry quickly paid for the wand and put it in his bag, wanting to get out of the shop as soon as possible. Sherlock saw his discomfort and followed promptly.

"Is there anything else you want to get before we go home?" asked Sherlock. Harry pulled out his list and scanned it, lingering on the last words.

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl, a cat, or a toad.

"Can I please get an owl?" asked Harry. Sherlock nodded and the three of them walked towards Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"I'll wait outside," said McGonagall. Harry was just about to walk in when someone came out and bumped into his shoulder. They had bright green hair and were wearing a pure white hoodie, a black necklace with a silver ring, and black aviator sunglasses.

"Sorry," they said in an odd accent as they continued walking. Harry said nothing and forgot all about them as he stepped into the owl shop. 

It was dim and loud, the only light reflecting off of the eyes of owls. Harry spent a while looking at all the different owls until he settled on a snowy white one. 

"That's a nice owl," said McGonagall when they left the shop. Harry smiled at her and inspected the owl properly now that they were in light.

"Yeah, she is." The snowy owl was quite the spectacle and many a jealous eye was trained upon her as they made their way back to the Leaky Cauldron. 

"This is where we part. Here's your ticket," McGonagall handed Harry an envelope. "To get through to the platform, walk quickly through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10. And run if you're scared." Harry thanked her and said goodbye, then followed Sherlock to a staircase.

"Your dad got a bit drunk and into a fight. He's not going to want to move until tomorrow, so we're staying here for the night," said Sherlock. Harry nodded, unsurprised. Sherlock showed him where his room was, then left him to his own devices. Harry picked up one of the books he had bought and started to read, staying in his room for the rest of the night, reading until the next morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new chapter! It only took me way too long. Sorry for the wait.  
> Thanks so much for 107 kudos! This is so insane!  
> And thank you for reading and leaving feedback, every one of you is awesome!


	13. Chapter 13

The month leading up to his the first day of Hogwarts was spent reading and memorising all of the books Harry had bought. Using what he had learnt about wandlore, Harry had taken his pocket knife and carefully engraved the wooden surface with protective wards so that people couldn't steal it, he couldn't lose it, and he couldn't be disarmed. He also made sure that it wouldn't be broken, but to work properly, the runes would need a specific spell to be cast, and Harry knew it was illegal for underage witches and wizards to use magic outside of school.

Every day he sent a letter to Draco. Even though they had only met once, they soon became good friends. Draco was the first proper friend had ever had, and Harry was the only friend Draco had that hadn't been chosen by his parents. Both of them were unbelievably excited to meet up and start school at the end of the month.

On the morning of the 21st of September, he woke at the crack of dawn to the sound of his owl's soft hoot. He had decided to name her Hedwig. Trying his best not to disturb his sleeping parents, Harry packed and repacked his trunk three times.

When John walked in to check on him, Harry was deciding whether or not to take his revolver. He finally settled on leaving it behind. If he was going to be attacked, something he hoped wouldn't happen, he would just use his wand. 

* * *

"Are you ready to go, Harry?" asked John after his son had finished his cup of coffee. Harry nodded, feeling nervous. 

"Let's be off then," said Sherlock, grabbing one end of Harry's trunk. John rushes to grab the other end and the two of them carried it awkwardly down the stairs, Harry following with a fresh cup of coffee and Hedwig's cage under his arm. He finished it before he reached the bottom of the stairs and left it on a side table just outside Mrs Hudson's door.   
The trunk was loaded into the boot of a waiting taxi and the family clambers into the back. 

"Where to?" asked the cabbie in a strong northern accent.

"Kings Cross, please," replied John. The cabbie nodded and they drove off towards the station.

* * *

It was quarter to ten when the taxi pulled up outside the station. Harry burst out of the door the second they stopped and grabbed his trunk, loading it onto a trolley, before grabbing Hedwig's cage from the car and putting it on top of the trunk. She wasn't overly happy with the rough handling and hooted in annoyance. Harry apologised and gave her an owl treat, then started pushing the trolley into the train station, practically sprinting in his excitement.

"Wait up, Harry!" called John from behind him. Harry slowed slightly, allowing his fathers to catch up with him. 

"Right, have you got your ticket?" asked Sherlock. Harry nodded and pulled out the piece of paper. 

"Platform nine and three quarters, located in the barrier between platforms nine and ten," said Harry, thinking they probably should've written that on the ticket. 

"Well then, let's go," said Sherlock. The three of them continued walking through the bustling crowd, making their way towards platforms nine and ten. Hedwig received a lot of odd looks. 

When they reached the platforms, Harry took a deep breath before walking quickly toward the barrier. He wanted to speed up, but knew that he could risk losing control. 

The front of his trolley collided with the barrier and Harry expected to crash. Instead, the trolley passed through the wall as if it wasn't there. The rest of him followed. Harry squeezed his eyes shut when the brick was inches from his face, but forced himself to open them when there was no collision. The sight that greeted him was incredible.  
Platform Nine and Three Quarters was filled with students in regular clothing and adults wearing multicoloured robes that swept along the brick floor. There were tears in eyes, some of sadness, some of joy. Students were hugging their parents goodbye and greeting their friends. The most amazing thing of all was the scarlet steam engine with Hogwarts Express emblazoned on the side.   
"Woah," said John as he came onto the platform. 

"Woah indeed," said Sherlock from behind him. 

"Do you want us to say goodbye now and let you find some friends, or stay here 'till you have to board?" asked John. Harry turned to look at his parents and thought for a moment before running to both of them and hugging them tight.

"Goodbye, guys. I'll miss you so much. I love you." Then he let go and pushed his trolley over to the train and started loading his trunk into a car. Drawn out goodbyes led to tears, Harry told himself as he struggled to lift the trunk. He looked behind him and saw John leaning on Sherlock, a few tears rolling down his face. Sherlock was doing his best to comfort his husband, but Harry could tell he was fighting off tears of his own.

Harry searches the platform for a familiar face, and saw a flash of blond hair. Draco was standing around with some kids his own age and a blond man, clearly his father. Draco looked quite bored and was also searching the platform. He locked eyes with Harry and immediately ran over. 

"Do you need some help with that?" Draco asked. He didn't wait for an answer before helping to lift Harry's trunk into the train. The second they had it on a rack, both of them let go of it and hugged each other.

"I missed you, Draco," said Harry, letting go of the blond. 

"And I you. Would you mind helping me get my trunk in here?" Harry nodded and the two of them left the car to grab Draco's trunk.

A few minutes later, the two of them were leaning out of the windows, waving at their parents as the train started to move away. Harry saw a little girl with red hair running after it. The sight made him smile slightly, but sing the tears running down his fathers' faces made him sad. 

He kept on waving until the platform was out of sight, then he flopped into one of the chairs and sighed.

"You'll see them in the holidays," said Draco in an attempt to comfort him. 

"I know. But I'm still gonna miss them." 

Draco nodded in understanding, then a grin crept onto his face.

"You know we can do magic now," he said, bringing out his wand. Harry smiled and bright his out too, whispering the spell to activate the runes. Each of them lit up with a bright golden glow, then faded slightly, though kept on emitting a slight light. 

"What did you do to it?" asked Draco, awestruck. Harry quickly explained the warding and runes, happy to see the shocked expression on his friends face.

"Do you know any other spells?" Draco asked. 

"Yeah," said Harry as he took off his glasses. He snapped them in half then raised his wand "oculus reparo." Once again, his wand glowed bright gold. The glasses immediately joined back up and were whole once more. Harry noticed that a lot of the chips and scratches had also been fixed, and the loose hinge was working as it should.

"That is so cool," said Draco, looking at his own wand in dismay. 

"I can put the runes on your wand if you want. You'll just have to say the spell and they'll work for you." Draco nodded and handed his wand over. 

A few spells later, Draco's wand was also warded, though his glowed blue instead of gold.

"The colour doesn't mean anything," explained Harry. "It's just what your wand core is." Draco studied his wand closely then tried casting a spell.

"Wingardium Leviosa." Harry's glasses flew into the air and collided with the ceiling, crumpling up and smashing. Then they dropped to the floor.

"I am so sorry," said Draco quickly. Harry laughed and picked them up off the ground, repairing them.

"It's fine. Most people can't even lift a feather on their first try. I'm impressed." 

Just as Draco was about to reply, there was a clattering outside the compartment. Harry opened the door and saw a dimpled old woman pushing a trolley laden with sweets and treats, all of which Harry had never seen before. There were chocolate frogs, liquorice wands, sugar quills, pumpkin pasties, odd-looking jelly beans and more.

"Anything from the trolley dears?" she asked in a sweet voice. Harry thought for a moment before nodding and grabbing a handful of each and depositing a large number of galleons in the lady's outstretched hand.

"Hungry are you," said Draco, smirking.

"Hell yeah." Harry emptied his arms onto a seat and began picking through the pile of sweets. 

"Can I-" Draco's hand was hovering over a chocolate frog. Harry nodded and inspected a packet of Bertie Bot's Every Flavour Beans, opening it cautiously and picking one out.

"Be careful," said Draco, "they mean every flavour, including vomit." The small, blue bean in Harry's hand looked slightly less appealing. Then Harry reminded himself of that time he had to walk through the London sewers and found a decaying body. Nothing could be worse than that. He popped the jellybean in his mouth and bit down, pleasantly surprised when instead of anything horrible, the bean tasted of blueberry. 

Harry put the packet down on the seat, not wanting to test his luck any further, and picked up a chocolate frog. He hoped it wouldn't contain a real frog, but you could never really know with the wizarding world. Harry opened it carefully and was glad to see that there was not a real frog. He ate the chocolate quickly and dropped the empty packet onto the seat beside him. A card dropped out. He picked it up. There was a picture of an old man with half-moon spectacles and a kind smile on the front. Unsurprisingly, the picture appeared to be enchanted and the wizard moved slightly, smiling wider and adjusting his glasses. Harry looked at it in awe for a few seconds before flipping the card over and reading the back.

Albus Dumbledore  
Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work in alchemy with his partner Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and ten-pin bowling.

Hardy flipped the card over and was surprised to see that Dumbledore was gone.

"He's gone," he exclaimed.

"Of course he is. You can't expect him to stick around all day, can you?" said Draco through a mouthful of chocolate. 

"Sure," said Harry, examining the card and locking the information into a new room in his mind palace, this one purely devoted to Dumbledore. Harry had a feeling that there was a lot to learn about his headmaster, and that quite a lot of it would be things the man would rather not become public knowledge.

"What's Dumbledore like?" Harry asked Draco. Draco held up his finger and quickly swallowed the chocolate in his mouth before answering.

"My father reckons he's off his rocker, but I think he's pretty okay. He's let a few too many mudbloods-" Harry looked at him, disappointed, "-sorry. He's pretty okay, but apparently very slack when it comes to rules," finished Draco, looking slightly guilty.

"That doesn't sound too bad. Though I think he wants to control every aspect of the school. The first person he sent to take me to Diagon Alley insulted my dads and said they weren't my real parents, while also seeming like a really nice guy, and I reckon Dumbledore had a hand in it." 

There was a knock on the door. A tearful looking boy poked his round face into the compartment.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?" When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry. 

"Yes," said the boy miserably. "Well, if you see him ..."

He left. 

Draco didn't say much for a while, instead deciding to stare out of the window. Harry chose this time to grab a book out of his trunks and starts reading. The two remained in a comfortable silence until the compartment door was slammed open and a bushy haired girl with large teeth and her brand new Hogwarts robes on stepped in. Harry looked her over. She was eleven, a first year, and magic was completely new to her. She was also smart, right-handed, and almost always reading. 

"Hello. Have you seen a toad? Neville's lost one." Her voice was quite loud and fast, in a tone some might call bossy. Harry had a feeling there weren't many people that listened to her at her home or old school. 

"No. I know a spell that could help find him though," said Harry, pulling out his wand. "What's its name?"

"Trevor, I think."

"Accio Trevor," said Harry, his wand glowing bright gold. The girl looked at it in shock. A few moments later, a green thing flew through the air and landed in Harry's outstretched hand. Trevor the toad croaked quietly and Harry cast a few healing spells just in case.

"Here you go," he said, giving the toad to the girl.

"How did you do that? That's a fourth year spell," asked Draco and the girl.

"I do a lot of reading." Harry began to explain everything he'd learnt about the fundamentals of magic, sparking a discussion with the girl, whose name he learned was Hermione that lasted for hours, eventually switching to a debate about the houses at Hogwarts. They kept on talking for a long time, Draco mentioning things occasionally. After a while, Hermione figured out that Harry was the son of Sherlock Holmes, and the rest of the train ride was Harry telling her and Draco all about his life. 

When the train finally slowed to a stop, Harry knew that Hermione was going to be one of his closest friends before the month was out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should not be awake right now.  
> It’s like one in the morning


	14. Chapter 14

When the train pulled into Hogsmead station, the sun had set and the night was beginning to cool down. Students were rushing onto the platform, glad to be out of the confinements of the train. Harry and Hermione were so wrapped up in their discussions they didn't even notice until Draco clapped loudly to get their attention.

"Do you want to go back to London already?" he said, opening the train door. Harry and Hermione smiled, then Harry shoved his book back into his trunk and quickly pulled a robe on, hoping no-one would notice it wasn't the full uniform. Then he closed the trunk and locked it with a spell before jumping out of the train to join his friends.

"Firs'-years! Firs'-years! Over here!" Rubeus Hagrid yelled. The massive man towered over everyone on the platform, a sort of beacon for those that had never set foot in this station before. 

Harry, Hermione, and Draco joined the first years crowding around Hagrid. There were around forty of them. Some looked at everything with wide eyes and slack jaws, some looked downright bored. Draco was among the latter. 

"Can anything impress you?" said Harry through a laugh. Draco smirked and shook his head.

"I've seen it all, dear Harry. All aside from an intelligent Griffindor," he replied, sending a dirty look towards the loud students in red behind them. They were shoving each other and yelling as they made their way towards awaiting carriages drawn by black, skeletal horses with wings. 

"What're those things pulling the carriages?" he asked Draco.

"There's nothing pulling the carriages, Harry. They're magic," the blond replied, looking down on Harry slightly. 

"I can see them too." Harry turned and saw Neville clutching his toad. "Not everyone can. They're pretty scary though." 

"More interesting than anything else," replied Harry as the horse-like things began to pull the carriages away. Harry watched them until they turned a corner and dropped out of sight. In all the books he had read, there had been no mention of any creatures matching that description. Harry made a note to ask one of the teachers when he got the chance.

The group of first years began to move away from the station, led by Hagrid. They walked through a dense patch of trees, a few people slipping on the gravel path.

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," said Hagrid. The narrow path opened up onto the bank of a massive black lake. There were many sounds of awe from the front of the group. Harry cursed his small build and stood up on his tip-toes to look over the heads of his peers. 

"Woah," he said as he saw Hogwarts for the first time. A massive castle stood atop a high mountain, an assortment of towers and bridges with hundreds of sparkling windows emitting a soft, yellow light. Below the students was a small group of boats.

"No more'n four to a boat!" yelled Hagrid. Draco, Harry, and Hermione climbed into one, Neville following right behind, still clutching tightly to his toad.

"Everyone in?" asked Hagrid, who was sitting in his own boat at the head of the fleet. When there were a few weak replies, Hagrid nodded and adjusted his seating. "Right then - FORWARD!" 

All at once, the boats began gliding along the smooth surface of the lake, sending slight ripples out towards the distant banks. Harry peered over the edge of the boat and saw flashes of red and a few tentacles. Immediately, Harry knew there was a giant squid living in this lake, which wasn't technically possible since they needed salt-water and high pressure to survive, but both the lake and squid were probably magical, so Harry didn't spend too much time thinking about it. Though he would love to see the squid up close.

The castle appeared larger and larger with each passing second. Harry felt so small compared to the towering school atop the sheer cliff.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff. Everyone bent their heads and were carried through a curtain of ivy which hid a large opening in the cliff. They floated through a dark tunnel that seemed to take them right underneath the castle.

Eventually, the boats stopped alongside a kind of underground harbour. Everyone clambered out onto the rocks, Neville tripping over the uneven ground. Harry and Draco helped him up before rushing back to join the group in front of a massive wooden door. Hagrid raised his fist and knocked on the door three times. It opened almost instantly and behind it stood Professor McGonnogal, as stern-looking as ever.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door wide, revealing an entrance hall so large the 221 building could've fit comfortably inside. The stone walls were lined with lit torches, not unlike those at Gringotts. Harry looked up and could barely see the ceiling. Opposite them was a magnificent marble staircase. McGonagall started to walk towards a dor. The students hurried after her, none of them wanting to be left behind. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices coming from a door off to the right. 

McGonagall reached the door she was walking towards and ushered the first-years inside. It was a rather small room and all the students were standing rather too close for comfort. They were muttering and giggling, as children often did, only stopping when McGonagall started to talk.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." Her eyes lingered on Neville's cloak, which was clasped under his ear. Draco smoothed his flawless hair back nervously. 

"Do you know what the sorting ceremony involves?" Harry asked Draco.

"No. Father never told me. He said he wasn't able to. It must be something that you cannot be prepared for." Harry suddenly felt very nervous. While Slytherin sounded like a perfectly good house, one of the best perhaps, the way McGonnogal said its name made Harry think being a Slytherin was something that was frowned upon. 

Hermione started whispering in his ear about just about every spell she had learnt, but most of the kids had never even used their wands, so Harry knew it wasn't going to be any kind of test, apart from maybe a personality quiz, but that seemed unlikely. Harry was starting to get more and more nervous. If there was one thing he couldn't stand, it was not knowing what was going on. 

Then something happened that almost took his mind off of his nervousness. Several pearly-white figures were floating into the room, through the walls and ceiling. Just about everyone gasped, there were even a few screams. The figures glided across the room, talking to each other and ignoring the students below them. They seemed to be arguing.

Harry heard the words of a fat monk. "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance-"

"My dear Frair, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name you know, and he's not even really a ghost - I say what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

Nobody answered.

"New students," exclaimed the Fat Frair, smiling at all of them. "About to be sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff," said the Frair. "My old house you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

The first-years lined up behind her and she walked out of the small chamber, back into the hall and through a pair of double doors, into the Great Hall.

Harry had never seen such an incredible place. It was lit with hundreds of candles, floating high above the heads of the students. Harry looked at them in awe, then saw the ceiling. There must have been some sort of enchantment to make it look exactly like the night sky. Harry could see every star, every constitution, every little detail. 

"It's bewitched to look like the sky outside, I read about it in Hogwarts; A History," whispered Hermione. Harry tore his eyes away and looked around the rest of the hall. There were hundreds of students sitting around four long tables. All the teachers were sitting on one table at the very end of the hall. Harry recognised the old man sitting in the middle as Albus Dumbledore. 

Professor McGonagall reached the front of the Hall and placed down a three-legged stool and a dirty wizard's hat. Harry looked at it closely, as did everyone else in the hall. It was covered in dirt and patches, with a few tears here and there. 

Suddenly, one of the tears by the brim opened up and the hat began to sing.

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty, 

But don't judge on what you see, 

I'll eat myself if you can find 

A smarter hat than me. 

You can keep your bowlers black, 

Your top hats sleek and tall, 

For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat 

And I can cap them all. 

There's nothing hidden in your head 

The Sorting Hat can't see, 

So try me on and I will tell you 

Where you ought to be. 

You might belong in Gryffindor, 

Where dwell the brave at heart, 

Their daring, nerve and chivalry 

Set Gryffindors apart; 

You might belong in Hufflepuff, 

Where they are just and loyal, 

Those patient Hufflepuffs are true 

And unafraid of toil; 

Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw, 

If you've a ready mind, 

Where those of wit and learning, 

Will always find their kind; 

Or perhaps in Slytherin 

You'll make your real friends, 

Those cunning folk use any means 

To achieve their ends. 

So put me on! Don't be afraid! 

And don't get in a flap! 

You're in safe hands

For I'm a Thinking Cap!'

The song ended and the hall was filled with applause. Harry felt some of the nervousness leave him. He just had to try on a hat! Though harry would rather not have something poking around in his mind, he much preferred this over being tested. Slytherin and Ravenclaw definitely sounded best. 

McGonagall stepped forward and unrolled a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!" 

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moment's pause – 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat. The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Harry saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!" 

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah. 

"Boot, Terry!" 

"RAVENCLAW!" The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. 

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling. 

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. 

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!" 

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes, Harry noticed, the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others, it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus", the sandy-haired boy next to Harry in the line, sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor. 

"Granger, Hermione!" Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head. 

"RAVENCLAW" shouted the hat.

When Neville was called, he fell over on his way to the stool. The hat took a long time to decide with Neville. When it finally shouted "GRYFFINDOR", Neville ran off still wearing it and had to jog back amid gales of laughter to give it to "MacDougal, Morag". 

Malfoy swaggered forward when his name was called and got his wish at once: the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" ... "Nott" ... "Parkinson" ... then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" ... then "Perks, Sally-Anne" ... and then, at last – "Pot-Holmes, Harry!" Harry sighed when he heard his name. All this magic and they couldn't even get it right. A few mutters followed him as Harry walked up to the stool and put the hat on his head.

"So you're Harry Potter," said a small voice in his head.

"No," he replied, "I'm Harry Holmes. Why is this so hard for people to understand?"

"Wizards are old-fashioned. I'm sure it'll sort itself out one day. You're a very difficult person. An incredibly sharp mind, Plenty of courage, I see. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting ... So where shall I put you?"

"Slytherin would be nice," said Harry. 

"SLYTHERIN!" This was yelled out loud. Harry smiled and took off the hat, walking over to the Slytherin table and sitting down beside Draco. He now had a much clearer view of the head table and all the teachers sat there. 

Harry could now see the head table properly and began to deduct what he could about each of the teachers. A lot of them did not want to be there, a few of them looked bored out of their minds. None of them were overly suspicious, though there was one with a turban who seemed way too nervous and another with greasy black hair that glanced at Harry with such a look of hatred Harry had a feeling the teacher would let him die without a second thought. Harry shivered slightly and went back to watching the Sorting Ceremony. There were only two kids left, a Ravenclaw, a Gryffindor, and a Slytherin who greeted Draco as a friend, but eyed Harry wearily when he sat down.

Harry looked down at his empty gold plate, feeling surprisingly hungry. The pumpkin pasties must have been ages ago. 

Albus Dumbledore was now on his feet. He was smiling at each and every student, though Harry saw it become ever so slightly forced when looking at the Slytherin table. He had his arms open wide, welcoming everyone into his school.

"Welcome!" he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak!

"Thank you!"

He sat back down. Harry didn't know whether to laugh or not. Everyone else was cheering and clapping, but Dumbledore was acting weirder than your average eccentric old man. Harry pushed the thoughts away. Headmasters rarely interacted with the students, so Harry felt sure he would have no issue avoiding him. 

"He's a bit odd, isn't he," said Draco. "Hogwarts really has gone to the dogs. Potatoes Harry?" Harry's jaw dropped. The empty gold platters that covered the table were now filled with food of every kind. There were roasts and Yorkshire puddings, and peas, carrots, chips, sausages, bacon, and, for some reason, mint humbugs. Harry piled his plate high, the massive amounts of food reminding him of Mycroft's home. The thought of his family made him slightly sad. He missed them already. 

Draco must've seen his face as he began talking all about what he hoped would happen at school. Harry was glad for the distraction and the two of them talked until all meals were finished and desert had come and gone. There was a ghost hovering over the pair for most of the meal. He was covered in silver blood and chains, but he didn't say anything, just watched with cold, dead eyes. 

Once all the tables were cleared of food, Dumbledore stood up again and delivered another speech.

"Ahem - just a few more words now we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First-years should note that the forest in the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. A few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore glanced over at the Griffindor table.

"I have also been asked by Mr Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors.

"Quidditch will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house team should contact Madam Hooch.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Dumbledore wasn't joking. Harry stared out him. Who the hell says that going into a corridor will kill you? Was it locked? Why were there deadly things in a school? 

"He's not serious?" Draco muttered to Harry.

"Well, he's not joking." Many of the other kids started muttering. There was a bit of an uproar from a few prefects, but they were silenced quickly.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Harry saw that the rest of the teachers' smiled became quite fixed.

Dumbledore flicked his wand and a long golden ribbon flew out of the tip. It flew high above the tables and twisted itself into words.

"Everyone pick their favourite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go."

The school started bellowing

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,

Teach us something please,

Whether we be old and bald

Or young with scabby knees,

Our heads could do with filling

With some interesting stuff,

For now they’re bare and full of air,

Dead flies and bits of fluff,

So teach us things worth knowing,

Bring back what we’ve forgot,

Just do your best, we’ll do the rest,

And learn until our brains all rot.

Everyone finished singing at different times. At last, only a set of red-headed twins were left, singing a slow, funeral march. Dumbledore conducted the last few lines with his wins, then once the twins were finished, he was the one who clapped the loudest. 

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Slytherin first-years followed a prefect out of the hall and down many staircases, through a cold hallway until they came upon a blank wall.

Harry was too tired to hear what was said, but the wall slid back to reveal a warm common room bathed in green light. He looked up and saw the lake and the giant squid just outside. The new students were directed to their dormitories. Harry pushed open the door and found his trunk next one of the five four-poster beds. He pulled off his robes, out on his pyjamas and collapsed onto the bed. He was asleep in seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. I'm back at school and lockdown is over, so I've got a lot less time. Thank you for reading. :)


	15. Chapter 15

Harry woke to the sun streaming down on his face. He scrunched his eyes and turned over, wishing he'd stayed awake long enough to close the bed curtains the night before. 

"You really should get up, Holmes," someone said. Harry groaned, but sat up, rubbing his eyes. He grabbed his glasses and put them on, allowing the dormitory to come into focus. Harry saw Draco standing over his bed, already dressed.

"Give me a minute, Malfoy." Harry slowly got up and pulled on his uniform. Hedwig's cage was still sitting on top of his trunk and she hooted softly. Harry opened the cage and she flew onto his shoulder. He grabbed a treat and fed it to her before grabbing his school bag and leaving the dormitory.

The common room was pretty empty, only a few older students were hanging around. The giant squid was visible in the lake. Harry looked at it for only a few seconds before walking out of the common room and into the dungeon hallway. He pulled his robes tighter around him, glad that the uniform was well-suited for living in a castle. 

Once he had climbed the many stairs out of the dungeons and into the entrance hall, Hedwig took off from his shoulder and flew out of one of the windows. Harry watched her fly off, admiring her pure white feathers against the blue sky.

"We don't have all day," said Draco from behind him. Harry jumped slightly, not realising the boy had crept up behind him. He scolded himself slightly. He would not let his observation skills slip. Especially not in a place with so many secrets.

"Are you coming?" asked Draco, already standing in the doorway of the Great Hall. Harry nodded and they walked in together. A few whispers followed them. Many students thought that Harry Holmes might be The Boy Who Lived, but most weren't convinced. Even so, Harry flattened his fringe over his scar, making sure no one would see it. It was unlikely he'd be able to keep the secret for long. 

Harry and Draco sat down at the empty end of the Slytherin table, perfectly happy to only talk to one another. Harry looked at the coffee-free table in front of him in dismay. Already he was feeling tired. He pushed the thoughts of caffeine aside and instead looked over at the Ravenclaw table. Hermione was sitting alone and not looking overly happy about it. Harry waved at her. She came over immediately and sat opposite Draco and Harry. A few Slytherins glared at the new addition to the table, and Draco looked slightly uncomfortable, but Harry immediately struck up a conversation. All three of them grabbed some breakfast and began to talk.

A while later, it was declared that breakfast was over and that all students should begin making their way to class. Draco and Harry said goodbye to Hermione and began walking towards their first class.

The second they arrived, school began, and Harry almost forgot he was in a magical place. Though the term had only just begun, teachers gave out more work than Harry had ever had to do in his whole life. He had never had a formal class before, and decided a few minutes after the first one started that he was pretty glad he had been homeschooled.

Even though every student was at a different level, they were all given the same tasks and the same help, though Harry saw that the better you were at the subject, the more attention you would get from the teacher. 

The first few days passed in a blur. Between having to navigate the ever-changing one hundred and forty-two staircases and having so much classwork you couldn't take a second to stretch your wrist without missing something important, Harry soon became quite tired. Every morning he would struggle to rise, and every night he would be asleep the second his head hit the pillow. On top of that, whenever he was in the great hall, he would get a horrible headache that felt like someone was shoving a wooden stake through his brain. 

By the third day, Harry was so tired he was unfazed when Peeves the resident poltergeist snuck up behind him, invisible, and grabbed his nose before screeching "GOT YOUR CONK!" Unfortunately, Harry had been too tired to do his hair that morning and his fringe shifted, revealing the lightning scar on his forehead. One kid saw it and cried out,

"YOU'RE HARRY POTTER!" Immediately, every student in the hallway ran towards him. He dodged their outstretched hands and ducked under their arms before sprinting away at top speed. They followed him until he reached his class. A few kids followed him into the cold classroom, but upon seeing the teacher, quickly backed out. 

Harry looked up at the front of the class, hoping to thank whoever scared away the kids, but the face he saw was filled with such hatred, the words died in his mouth. At the front of the class stood the greasy-haired teacher from the welcome feast. 

"You're late, Mr Holmes." He said in a deep, unsettling voice.

"Very sorry, but I was slowed down by Peeves."

"Sure. A point from Slytherin." Harry wanted to protest, but knew it wouldn't help. Instead, he took a seat next to Draco. A few seconds later, a redhead burst through the door, panting loudly. The professor looked at him with disdain. 

"You're very late, Weasley. Five points from Gryffindor." The boy opened his mouth to protest. "Speak and I make it ten," said the professor. The Weasley closed his mouth and sat down next to another Gryffindor. 

The professor pulled out a roll of parchment and began taking the register. When Harry's name was called, there was a moment of hesitation before the professor moved onto the next person. Harry was slightly thankful that he hadn't said Potter. It seemed that his old name would give him nothing but trouble.

The professor finished calling the names and looked up at the class with his cold black eyes.

"I am Professor Snape. You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he began. He had the ability to capture the full attention of every student in the room without even trying. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

He stayed silent after his speech, letting the words sink in. 

"Holmes," he said sharply. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry wasn't too happy about being called out, but answered the question quickly.

"A sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death." Snape looked disappointed.

"Hmm... Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?" Harry scowled at his teacher. What he was asking wasn't going to appear in the curriculum for a good few years. Snape was trying to trip him up.

"The stomach of a goat," answered Harry, hoping this would be the last question.

"What is the difference, Holmes, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"They're the same plant. Can we please get on with the class?" Snape's scowl deepened,

"Why aren't you writing all this down?" he snapped at the class. Everyone grabbed their quills and began scribbling down everything that had been said. 

Snape paired each of them up. Harry was paired with Draco, something both of them were happy about. It turned out that Draco was quite good at potions. Things seemed to improve for Harry once the lesson began properly, but he saw that Snape would take every opportunity to pick on and insult the Gryffindors. 

All was going fairly well until there was a loud hissing and someone cried out. Harry looked past Snape, who was currently telling the whole class how perfectly Draco had stewed his horned slugs. Neville had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob. The potion was spreading across the stone floor, burning holes in peoples' shoes if they couldn't climb on top of their stools fast enough.

"Idiot boy!" snarled Snape, clearing the spilt potion away with a wave on his wand. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire?"

Neville whimpered as boils began to pop up all his face. 

"Take him to the hospital wing," spat Snape at Seamus. Seamus grabbed Neville's arm and walked the whimpering boy out of the classroom.

"You - Holmes- why didn't you tell him not to add the quills? Thought he'd make you look good if he got it wrong, did you?"

"What is your problem with me? I've never met you before in my life, yet you hate me! Why!" Harry cried.

"After what your father did to me, how could I not?" replied Snape, anger radiating off of him.

"You've never met Sherlock or John. I would know if you had."

"Not those imbecile muggles, your real father, James Potter!" There were many gasps around the room. Harry could feel all the students staring at him, but he didn't look away from Snape. 

"Well," said Harry, "until you can get over your grudge with a dead man, you are not going to be able to give me an adequate education, so I don't think I'll continue this class." Harry shoved his quill back into his bag and walked out of the classroom, down the hall, and into the corridor that held the Slytherin common rooms. He stood outside the concealed door for a while before turning on his heel and walking to the library. This seemed as good of a time as any to work on his homework.

Around an hour later, the bell went and Harry went off to his next class, trying his best to avoid other people. The news of his identity had travelled like wildfire and he was met with someone wanting to see him at almost every corner. Everywhere he went he was followed by whispers and pointing fingers. He was glad for the distraction that work provided, but he knew he had made the wrong decision when it came to Snape. Maybe it had been a mistake to come to Hogwarts at all. The house system didn't seem too smart, as teachers had favourites. The whole school had something off about it, but maybe it was just all the antiques giving Harry the creeps.

* * * 

A few days later was Harry's first Defence Against the Dark Arts class. This was one he had really been looking forward too, one that disappointed him immeasurably. Instead of learning defensive spells and interesting things about dark magic, the lesson was spent talking about small things that taught the class nothing. The teacher himself was a joke. 

Professor Quirrel was a quiet, frightened man with a stutter. He wore a turban that smelled terrible and always had a fearful look in his eyes. The second Harry had entered the classroom he could sense that something was off. That something turned out to be the teacher, but Harry couldn't put his finger on it. Unfortunately, the work that was given meant he couldn't concentrate on irregularities in his teacher's mannerisms. 

Instead, he focussed on learning about the magical world so that he could one day understand how magic worked.

* * *

At long last, the weekend arrived. Harry spent the entirety of Saturday morning sleeping. When he finally did get up, he spent the rest of the day reading and doing homework. Finally, he decided to find out some of the castle's secrets. After dinner was over, he started with the most obvious place, the third-floor corridor.

"Are you sure about this?" asked Draco for the hundredth time as they made their way up to the third floor.

"It'll be fine. If we get caught, just say you got lost. It's a big castle." Draco didn't seem too happy with that response, but he stopped complaining.

"Here we are," said Harry as they came before the large wooden door. Harry checked that the hall was empty before whispering "alohomora". The door clicked open and they hurried inside, closing it softly behind them. 

What greeted them wasn't quite what Harry was expecting.

A massive, three-headed dog stood over them. It looked startled by their sudden appearance, and Harry knew it was the only reason they were still alive.

"Good doggy," he said softly, trying to recall everything he knew about three-headed dogs. It wasn't a lot. One thing that did stick out was that they liked music. 

"Canticum," he whispered, the runes on his wand glowing gold. A soft melody started, the sound not seeming to come from anywhere in particular. Harry recognized it as the national anthem and began humming along. The dog's eyes began to droop closed and it slowly lowered itself to the ground. Harry kept the spell going as the two boys edged around the massive canine. 

"What spell is that?" asked Draco.

"Dunno. I just made it up and hoped it worked," replied Harry. Draco looked at him in disbelief. "It's just Latin," said Harry, feeling embarrassed. 

"You're pretty cool," said Draco. Harry smiled at him, then began looking for anything that could indicate a secret. He found one pretty quickly. Half-covered by the dog's massive body was a trapdoor. Draco and Harry tried to push the dog off, but it was too heavy.

"I wonder what that dog is guarding," said Draco as they walked back down to their common room. They had decided to leave it for another day. Neither of them wanted to be eaten, and it was also nearing the end of the day. Over Filch finding them out of bed and being attacked by the dog, the latter was preferable. 

"I dunno. Something that wouldn't be safe anywhere else," replied Harry, wishing there was just a bit more information at his disposal. 

"How would it be more safe here than it would be in Gringotts?"

"Maybe it's a person?" suggested Harry. Draco said nothing in response, only the password as they reached the entrance to the common room. 

"Whatever it may be, it's an issue for tomorrow," said Draco as they entered their dormitory. Harry nodded and got changed. Once he was ready for bed, it took him a lot longer to fall asleep than usual. When he finally did, his dreams were filled with dogs and trapdoors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am currently editing chapter 16 because I hate it and I can't write chapter 17 because of that. I also fixed a few things in this chapter. Sorry.   
> And thank you all so much for reading. Updates are slowing down because I suddenly lost all motivation to write this, hence the rewriting and editing.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry and Draco hurried into the great hall, sitting opposite Hermione at the Ravenclaw table.

"Goodmorning, guys," she said, folding up the newspaper she had been reading.

"Mornin'. Listen, we found out something awesome last night," said Harry quickly.

"I wouldn't call a three-headed dog awesome," said Draco.

"Yeah, but it's hiding something, so there's a mystery. That's the awesome part," replied Harry.

"What are you guys talking about?" asked Hermione. Harry explained the events of the previous night, getting more and more excited with each word.

"So, what do you think it's guarding?" asked Harry.

"Maybe whatever this guy was trying to steal." Hermione handed over the newspaper she had been reading and pointed to a small article.

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts' goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

'But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you,' said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Harry read it quickly, then re-read it, absorbing as much information as possible.

"We need to interrogate one of the goblins. I think I know one who would talk." And with that, Harry sprinted from the hall, running all through the castle until finally arriving in the owlery. He grabbed a pen and a piece of parchment that was in one of his pockets and wrote out a short letter to Griphook. Then he called over Hedwig and tied the letter to her leg. The owl then flew from the room, soaring over the grounds. Harry watched her leave, then turned to go.

Once he was out in the hallway, he bumped into a breathless Draco and Hermione.

"Why'd you have to run?" asked Draco between gasps.

"I need answers as soon as possible, and I knew someone who will hopefully give me some," he replied. Draco looked at him oddly, but Hermione smiled. There was little more exciting than a mystery.

The three of them started walking to the library, trying to figure out what could be hidden.

"Are there any super important wizard artefacts that could be hidden here?" Harry asked Draco.

"Well, it could be the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, the Deathstick, the Resurrection Stone, the Philosopher's Stone, any number of lost wands, honestly, there are so many cursed or enchanted or magical objects in the world that could be hidden here, it's impossible to narrow it down," he said, sounding defeated.

"Well," said Harry, "We've got to start somewhere."

The three of them arrived at the library and began their research. Hermione scanned the shelves carefully, picking up only books that looked useful, Draco grabbed them at random, and Harry edged his way over to the restricted section.

"Don't," said Draco without looking away from the shelves.

"Don't what?" said Harry innocently.

"Don't go in the restricted section. At least, don't go there during the day." Harry smiled and went back over to his friends, picking up one of Hermione's books and starting to read.

* * *

It took two weeks for Griphook to reply.

While Harry, Draco, and Hermione had once again been trying to find out what was being hidden, and once again having no luck, Hedwig had flown through the library window and landed loudly on the desk, a letter tied to her foot. Harry took it off and opened it, Hedwig flying away immediately. 

The letter was written in neat cursive with blood-red ink.

To Mister Holmes,

Usually, I would not risk my job and credibility by telling you this, but if you believe that Albus Dumbledore is attempting to protect this, then you must keep a close eye on it. I know most would disagree, but Dumbledore is not to be trusted.

What was once held in vault 713 is an object of unmatched importance, but I could not tell you what it is, even if I knew. I hope you tread carefully, young Holmes.

Griphook.

Harry smiled. Vault 713 had come up more than a few times in the books he had been reading. He handed the letter over to Hermione then grabbed one of the books he had read - The Curious History of Gringotts - to refresh his memory.

Vault 713 has always been an interesting one. The first owner was found dead inside the vault after attempting to enter it without a registered goblin a few years before. This was the first of many wizards and witches who would suffer while using this vault.

After the thirteenth suspicious death surrounding this vault, no one dares use it. It remained empty for decades, until Nicolas Flamel decided he would try to break its supposed curse. Though no one knows what he put in there, many have theorised that it holds the-

"Dammit," yelled Harry. The rest of the page was covered in a giant inkblot. Harry sighed in defeat and shoved the book back into a shelf.

"Do you guys know who Nicolas Flamel is?" he asked his friends. They shook their heads. Harry was sure he had heard the name before, but he couldn't remember where. He racked his brains, but came up with nothing.

"Well, I think I'm done with reading today, so, if it's alright with you, I'm going to get some lunch," Draco said, walking out of the library.

"Me too. See ya later, 'Mione." Hermione nodded as Harry left the library and followed Draco.

They talked in length about all they had found out, quieting only when a teacher or student walked past.

"What I don't get," said Draco, "is why Hogwarts would be safer than Gringotts. Whoever tried to steal the object before would probably know that it was moved here, so a potentially dark wizard now has reason to come here. That's something I wish I hadn't thought of-" he trailed off, looking slightly distraught. 

"Well, we've got Dumbledore. Whether he's trustworthy or even a good person doesn't matter. Enough people respect him or are afraid of him to know to leave Hogwarts alon-aaaa." A sharp pain shot through Harry's scar. 

"Are you okay?" Draco asked, worried. Harry rubbed his scar and grimaced.

"I think so. It's never hurt like that before. Probably nothing." He picked up his goblet and took a sip of pumpkin juice. "This is so gross," he decided, putting it back on the table. Harry looked up at the top table. Quirrel was talking to Snape. There was another spike of pain through his scar. 

"Are you sure you're alright?" asked Draco as Harry once again raised his hand to his scar.

"I think I'm gonna head back to the common rooms." Harry stood up, one hand still pressed to his forehead and started walking out of the room. He was stopped by none other than Dumbledore.

"Harry, my boy, are you alright?" Harry quickly shoved his hands in his pockets, his right now holding tightly to his wand. He looked at the headmaster, figuring out pretty quickly that Dumbledore didn't really care about the answer. His concerned expression clashed with his sparkling eyes. 

"I'm fine Professor. I just have homework to do." Harry tried to walk past him, but Dumbledore subtly blocked his path. "I've really got to go," said Harry, ducking under Dumbledore's arm and making a break for the door. Dumbledore didn't pursue him, but Harry didn't bother slowing down. He sprinted down the many stairs into the dungeons, stopping only when he was outside the common room. He caught his breath before saying the password and stepping inside. 

None of the ten or so students working in the common room looked up as he walked through the room and into his dormitory. He flopped onto his bed and picked up a book, absently flicking through the pages. It took only a few minutes for him to get bored.

"Bored," he whispered to himself. He smiled, but it was replaced immediately with a feeling of sadness. He missed Sherlock and John so much. He'd never been away from his fathers for so long. After thinking for a moment, he reached into his trunk and grabbed a few sheets of paper and a pen.

Around half an hour later, three sheets were filled with everything that had happened in the past week, mainly focused on the mystery around the third-floor corridor. Perhaps his dads could shed some light on it. 

Harry folded the letters and shoved them in an envelope, then left the dormitory, heading up to the owlery.

Hedwig was just waking up when he arrived. She flew down quickly and stuck her foot out, allowing Harry to tie the letter on and tell her who it was for before she flew off. 

Once she had disappeared from Harry's view, he left the owlery. Distracted by thoughts of the third-floor corridor, he didn't notice a fellow student running towards him. He collided with a very puffed Neville Longbottom and they both hit the floor.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Neville as he climbed to his feet. 

"Why were you running?"

"Peeves," he said, leaning on the wall to catch his breath. "That poltergeist has got it in for me." Harry nodded and continued walking down the hall, leaving Neville behind. A flash of glass caught his eye. A small, glass ball was rolling down the hall. He picked it up.

"Is this yours?" he asked Neville. Neville turned and looked at Harry's hand.

"Uh, yeah. It's a remembrall. It goes red when you've forgotten something, which I think you might've." Harry looked down at the small ball and saw that it was scarlet.

"The Chocolate Frog card," Harry whispered, finally remembering where he had seen Flamel's name before. "Here you go. I have to go." He dropped the ball in Neville's hand and sprinted down the hall, back down to the common rooms. 

"Why is this castle so big?" he asked no one in particular when he sat puffing on his bed. He went through all of his pockets and his entire trunk before finally finding the small card. He flipped it over and read it, tucking all the information about Nicolas Flamel, the alchemist, in his mind palace. Once he had read it, he shoved the card in his pocket and went back to the library, finding as many books as he could on alchemy, before sitting in a small corner and reading. He stayed there until the sun set and the librarian yelled at him because the library was closed. 

He walked to his dorm, annoyed about how little he had found out. For some reason, Flamel didn't show up in Modern Alchemy: Everything You Need To Know, or in The Greatest Discoveries in 20th Century Alchemy. A few of the books had mentioned him, but never saying anything more than his name.

When he reached his dorm, everyone was asleep. He got ready for bed as quietly as he could, lying down and setting his glasses on his bedside table far too loudly for the time of night. He shut his eyes and willed himself to go to sleep.

A few hours later, he was still lying there, his body and mind refusing to shut down.

"Screw this," he whispered, grabbing his glasses and a robe. He pulled it on over his pyjamas and slipped into his sneakers. Then he stood up and walked out of the dormitory. The common room was pitch black, the fire having burnt itself out hours before.

"Lumos," he whispered, holding up his now lit wand as he stepped into the stone corridor. 

He walked through the castle in silence, not passing a single perfect or teacher. When he reached the third-floor corridor, the door was locked. He quickly opened the door with a spell and slipped inside. 

"Canticum." The room was once again filled with soft music and the three-headed dog that had been growling at him plopped down on the ground and started snoring. Luckily for Harry, he missed the trapdoor and Harry was able to open it and peer into the darkness.

Even with his wand shining a bright light into the hole in the floor, he couldn't see the bottom. There was no ladder, and he didn't want to risk breaking a leg, so Harry closed the trapdoor and sat on top of it, wishing he knew just a few more spells.

The dog whined slightly in its sleep.

"Do you even get walks?" Harry asked, looking at it sadly. Unsurprisingly, the sleeping dog didn't reply. "You should be in the forest, eating unicorns or something." He sighed and sat up against the wall, turning his wand over. The national anthem was starting to get on his nerves. 

"I guess I should go," he said, getting up and leaving. The second he closed the door behind him and whispered "Finite Incantatum." he heard the dog wake up and start scratching at the door. Harry walked back down to his dormitory, not bumping into a single teacher. 

He collapsed on his bed and eventually fell asleep, his dreams filled with thoughts of home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry, but I edited a few parts that were really annoying me and filled in a couple of plot holes as well as fixing a few inconsistencies. Tell me if I missed anything. Chapter 17 should be coming pretty soon.  
> Also, thank you guys so much for 209 kudos! You're all awesome.


	17. Chapter 17

School was slowly becoming more and more time consuming as the weeks went on. The teachers all had their reasons, such things as 'exams are only eight months away,' and 'you'll thank us later'. Harry couldn't stand it. He adored learning, but the piles of homework in addition to the case file Sherlock would send him every week, meant there was little time left that he could spend investigating the secrets of the school. 

While Harry certainly wasn't unintelligent - how could you be with Sherlock Holmes for a father? - he still struggled with the work. Magic went against just about everything he knew about the world, and it annoyed him. Science was the basis of so much of his world view, and magic just chucked it out the window. 

When Sherlock and John had replied to his letter, Sherlock too had been frustrated by the lack of science, but intrigued by the mystery. John had been more worried about the three-headed dog and the threat of death that could come to the curious. He had also been concerned about Harry being the Boy Who Lived and the possibility of a dark wizard coming to the school to find whatever had been moved from Gringotts. 

Another thing that concerned the three of them was Albus Dumbledore. The old man had a few too many secrets and an uncanny knowledge of Harry's life. Just about every week, Harry would be called into the Headmaster's office. Each time, they barely spoke, but Harry always left with a splitting headache.

"Is there mind-reading magic?" Harry asked Draco as they walked back from Dumbledore's office one day, Harry rubbing his temples in an attempt to soothe his headache.

"Yeah. It's called Legilimency. But it isn't supposed to hurt unless the Legilimen wants it to." Draco looked at his friend worriedly. "You don't think Dumbledore is using Legilimency, do you? Because I'm pretty sure it's illegal. If I tell my father, he'll put a stop to it immediately." With those words, all emotion dropped from Draco's face as he put on his Malfoy mask.

"You know, hiding or suppressing your emotions has been shown to reduce mental health," said Harry. Draco's mask slipped.

"Father has been doing it his whole life and he turned out fine," said Draco. Harry stifled a laugh, causing Draco to glare at him. "It's an easy way to practice Occulemency, the way you keep Legilimens out of your head." Harry stopped laughing at that. 

"I'm going to the library," he said, turning on his heel and walking quickly away from Draco. It took a few seconds for the blond to notice his friend had gone, but once he did he sprinted after him.

"Wait up!" called Draco. Harry only sped up, his need for answers blocking out everything else.

He slowed only when he reached the library, carefully reading the spines of each book he walked past before coming to a stop at Madam Pince's desk.

"Excuse me, Madam Pince." The stern woman looked up from her book, eyeing Harry suspiciously. "I was wondering if you had any books on Occulemency?" Harry put on his best innocent eleven-year-old act. Madam Pince looked at him carefully, trying to find any evidence that the book Harry desired could be harmed. Upon finding nothing, she pointed him towards an empty isle near the restricted section. 

Just before Harry began walking towards it, a puffing Draco put a hand on his shoulder. He leaned over, trying to catch his breath.

"How can you walk so fast?" he asked between gasps. Harry said nothing, just waited for his friend to catch his breath before continuing through the library and arriving at the correct isle. He looked through the books, reading each and every title before on caught his yee. The Art Of Occulmenecy. Harry picked it up and sat down. 

An hour later, he was halfway through the book and had a rather in-depth knowledge of occulemency and legilimency. It took a few more hours for him to fully understand every aspect of it. He got out several books so that he could begin learning occulemency that night.

much of the night reading and practising occulemency. While he was unsure how effective he would be, when morning rolled around, he had all but mastered putting up walls around his mind. Having spent his whole life learning how to organise his thoughts and keep track of just about every single one, simply blocking them out was pretty easy. He had complete control over his mind, something unbelievably useful when it came to occulemency. 

Unfortunately, when you have basically no sleep, your mind is not quite up to scratch, so upon entering the great hall the next day, he was once again met with a headache and Albus Dumbledore's twinkling eyes. As hard as he tried to block his thoughts and put up a wall, it was fr more challenging than the first assumed. Instead, he ate as fast as he could and left the hall the second he finished. 

Harry 's first class was Charms, it was quite fun, but he missed a homework assignment. In spite of that, Professor Flitwick did nothing but praise him. It was unbelievably frustrating. 

"The Potter name really isn't helping anything is it?" he whispered to Draco.

"No, I suppose not," replied Draco.

"Oh well, it could be worse. I could be a Malfoy," he whispered to Draco, who looked mock-hurt and rolled his eyes. 

"At least them you wouldn't fail all your assignments," Draco said before returning to his work. Upon hearing the professor mention and unfamiliar topic, Harry was quick to follow suit. 

A few long hours later, Draco, Harry, and Hermione were sitting under a tree beside the black lake, discussing their findings.

"So neither of you have heard about Nicolas Flamel?" asked Harry for the umpteenth time.

"I've already told you, the name is familiar, but I can't remember why," said Hermione exasperatedly. Hermione was going to say something more, but stopped when she saw two redheads approaching. 

"Hiya," the first one said.

"You're Harry Potter, right?" asked the second. Harry sighed, wishing he could have some peace.

"Nope. It's Harry Holmes," said Harry, forcing a smile.

"Wait, like Sherlock Holmes?" asked the first, a look of awe forming on his face.

"Fred and George Weasley," said the second, pointing to himself and his brother before holding out a hand.

"What can you tell us about the cases you've been on?" asked George excitedly as he and his brother sat down on the grass. Harry was more than happy to tell them about cases, it was far better than being asked about his dead parents. 

"Well, there was this one crazy case where these guys came in claiming that their comic books were coming true-" Harry launched into the story of what John had dubbed 'The Geek Interpreter'. While there was very little illegal activity and no dead bodies, it had been a most interesting case. 

When the sun began to set, Harry was explaining the finer details on how the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of a woman in London had been brought to light. Fred and George had wanted to know everything about every single case. Though they already followed most of them through muggle newspapers, it was different to hear such detailed first-hand recounts of cases.

"And this was just an everyday thing for you?" asked George incredulously as the five of them walked back up to the castle. 

"Yeah. It was just my life," replied Harry, wishing that the case he was on at that moment had more evidence. Then he had an idea.

"Have either of you heard of Nicolas Flamel?" he asked the twins.

"I think so," answered Fred.

"Yeah, he made the Philosopher's stone," said George. 

"That's where I heard it before," said Hermione. "I have to go." She sprinted off to the castle.

"Wait up!" called Draco as he and Harry took off after her. Fred and George exchanged a look before following.

"How can she run so fast?" asked Draco as he leaned on the door to the Ravenclaw common room. 

"Maybe we're just slow," said Harry while he tried to get back his breath. 

"Nah," said George, who was completely fine.

"She's just super fast," finished Fred.

Once Harry had recovered, he knocked on the door. It was opened almost immediately by Hermione, her hair even bushier than usual. In her arms was a thick, leather-bound book. She ushered her friends inside, much to the annoyance of the others in the common room. And what a common room it was. 

In the centre of the back wall was a large alcove lined with bookshelves, within it was a marble statue of a woman wearing a tiara. The rest of the room was covered in bookshelves and massive windows allowing sunlight to shine on the students working in various armchairs dotted around the room.

Hermione dropped the book down on a nearby table with a loud thud before opening it and flicking through the pages, stopping around halfway through.

“I got this book out a few days ago, for some light reading.” Draco looked at her in disbelief.

“This is light?” Hermione ignored him, scanning the page for what she was looking for.

“I knew it! Nicolas Flamel is the only known maker of the Philosopher’s Stone, but he’s also good friends with Professor Dumbledore.”

“So now all we have to do is figure out who’s gonna steal it,” said Harry.

“It could be anyone. Think of all the power that would come with immortality,” said Draco. 

"It could be You Know Who," whispered Fred. 

"But how would he get in undetected?" asked Harry. George was about to reply, but was interrupted by a nervous-looking first year.

"D-Dumbledore, wants to see you in his office," she said to Harry. Harry sighed and nodded, looking at his friends apologetically before following the student to the headmaster's office.

"How have you been, Harry?" Dumbledore asked as Harry walked in. "Is Slytherin treating you well, or do you want to transfer?"

"Slytherin has been perfect," said Harry curtly. "Why did you want to talk to me?"

"I just wanted to make sure you weren't poking your nose in places it doesn't belong. I would hate to have to send you back to the Dursleys," said Dumbledore. Harry saw a glint in his eye and his brow crease in concentration. Harry immediately threw up walls around his mind, concentrating to push out the invader.

"The Dursleys were deemed unfit to look after me. I'm fairly sure they lost custody of my cousin as well."

"They were deemed unfit to look after Harry Potter, you are not him, so you'll be able to stay with them no problem." Harry narrowed his eyes as a headache began, a burning behind his eyes. 

"Would you be so kind as to get the hell out of my head?" Harry asked, glaring at the wizard before him. Dumbledore chuckled and the pain behind Harry's eyes lessened, but he could still feel a presence in his mind. He began forcing it out, using all his concentration to lock up all thoughts but the ones focussed on removing the headmaster from his mind. He clapped, suddenly, and Dumbledore lost concentration, though only for a millisecond. It was enough. Harry pushed him out of his mind, but kept on going, forcing himself through Dumbledore's defence. 

"That's quite enough, my boy," said Dumbledore, chuckling once again. Harry scowled at him and slipped his wand out of his pocket, whispering a spell. 

"Vulnero." 

Dumbledore collapsed on the ground, clutching his side. Harry left the room without looking back.

"What did he want?" asked Draco as Harry left the office. He, Hermione, Fred, and George had followed slightly behind Harry.

"Just stuff. I managed to get him out of my head," said Harry. George looked at him oddly.

"Legilimency," said Harry. That didn't seem to clear it up for the twins.

"But that's illegal!" exclaimed Fred. 

"It's almost as if people with a certain amount of power don't have to abide by the law," said Hermione sarcastically. 

"He also wanted to send me back to the Dursleys, the people that starved me and locked me in a cupboard when I was three," said Harry. Fred and George looked at him in disbelief, but Draco only shook his head, disappointed.

"I had hoped that my father was wrong about that man," said Draco. 

"Well, he won't dare bother me again," said Harry as he began walking back to the Slytherin common room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long, and that this chapter is so bad. I made a few bad decisions concerning sleep and writing my main novel, and had basically no energy to write anything other than a few short fics for my friends. Thank you so much for everyone that has read and commented. You're all awesome!


	18. Chapter 18

Over the next few months, Dumbledore refused to acknowledge Harry’s existence, something that Harry was perfectly fine with. He had more important things to worry about, such as homework, schoolwork, and slowly but surely warding the door to the third-floor corridor in an attempt to stop anyone who knew a simple unlocking spell gaining access. It was unbelievably easy, and Harry couldn’t understand why none of the teachers had done it. Surely they would use every measure available to keep out unwanted visitors. Harry disregarded it as an oversight, but still kept a watchful eye on the corridor, setting up a bit of magic surveillance, just in case. 

The weeks went by without any sort of disturbance, so as the Christmas holidays drew nearer, Harry had no issue leaving the school, to see his family again. Sherlock and John were just as excited, and the three Holmes couldn’t wait. 

Finally, the day arrived and Harry was able to go home. He practically sprinted to the train, his friends following close behind.

“And you’re sure John and Sherlock won't mind us staying?” asked Hermione for the hundredth time.

“It’ll be fine, ‘Mione,” Draco assured her. Fred and George, both of whom had become close friends with the first-year trio, were beyond excited. 

“We’re going to meet Sherlock Holmes,” they kept on telling each other. 

“And we’ll probably go on a case or something,” said Harry, smiling as the twins’ faces lit up with child-like glee. 

* * *

“Can’t this train go any faster?” asked Fred, tapping his foot in impatience.

“We’re literally at the station already,” replied Harry. Just as the words left his mouth, the train slowed to a stop. Fred and George cheered and leapt onto the platform. The other three were quick to follow, dragging their trunks behind them. Hedwig was already at the flat, having flown there to drop off a letter and needing no reason to return, so her empty cage had been shrunk down and shoved inside Harry’s trunk. 

The five of them hurried through the busy platform and through the barrier, back into the muggle world. Harry bumped into a somewhat familiar person with bright green hair, but they were soon forgotten when he saw his dads. He dropped his trunk and ran towards them, hugging them both tightly.

“We missed you too,” said John as they let go. “Who’re your friends?” Harry quickly introduced each of them. Fred and George stared at Sherlock in awe.

“And they’re all going to fit in our flat, how?” asked John.

“The basement one’s empty, right? I’m pretty sure parts of it are furnished already.” John nodded and the seven of them left the station and hailed a couple of taxis. For Sherlock’s sake, Fred and George drove with John, though they still pestered the poor man with hundreds of questions on the long journey to 221b Baker Street.

Somehow, even when the taxi had pulled up and the trunks were being unloaded, Hermione, Fred, and George were still asking questions.

“Just leave them alone,” said Draco, “for the sake of all of us.” Harry smiled.

“What I really want to know is what’s school like?” asked John as he helped carry the numerous trunks up the stairs and drop them in the lounge. 

“It’s awesome,” said Harry, slightly out of breath. He looked out the window briefly and saw a woman at the front door, looking hesitant. “Client,” he said, going back down the stairs to open the door. Just as the doorbell rang, Harry opened the door and invited the client inside.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said, stepping around a vase that had been shattered sometime during the day. The client muttered something under her breath. 

Harry led her up the stairs into the lounge. Fred, George, Hermione, and Draco were all standing just outside the door, trying to be inconspicuous.

“Friends from school,” said Harry as the client opened her mouth to ask. She nodded and closed it before taking a seat on the sofa. 

John and Sherlock came in a few moments later, sitting down on their respective chairs. 

“So, what brings you here?” John began as Harry left the room and led his friends to his room. 

“Woah,” said Fred as he looked around. The walls were covered in case files, newspaper clippings, and pictures of both victims and criminals. Hedwig was sitting on the windowsill, a dead frog in her beak. Upon seeing the six visitors, she dropped the frog and flew to sit on top of Harry’s cupboard. 

“That’s gross,” said Harry, chucking the dead frog out of the window. It landed in a passing garbage truck. 

“Why all the dead people?” asked Draco, gesturing to a group of pictures with blurred out blood. 

“No reason,” said Harry, picking up a few pictures that had fallen off his walls while he was gone. “Anyway, what do you guys wanna-” he was interrupted by John knocking on the door.

“We’re going to the scene. It’s a murder. Do you want to come?” John asked. Harry nodded and grabbed his gun from under his mattress. He put on his holster and covered it with a hoodie.

“Do you guys wanna come?” he asked his friends. Everyone was quick to say yes and they all followed John down the stairs and back on to the street.

Sherlock was already waiting in a taxi with the client. Hermione and Harry joined them, Draco, Fred, George, and John finding another.

“So, what happened?” asked Harry. The client was shaking and stuttering, so Sherlock answered for her.

“She came home one day to find her fiance dead on the floor. There were no signs of forced entry and no obvious causes of death. Also ‘The Boy Who Lived Shall Die’ was written on the wall.” Harry gulped. Hermione paled slightly. Sherlock looked at them questioningly, but they both shrugged.

“Oh. Okay,” he said. The rest of the ride was silent. Harry felt sick the whole time, but said nothing to Sherlock.

When they finally arrived, Harry and Hermione practically leapt out of the cab, followed closely by Sherlock and the client. 

“It’s just here,” said the client, fumbling with her keys as she climbed up the stairs of the nearest house. She managed to unlock the door after a few tries and it slowly creaked open.

The entrance was dusty and plain, no signs of forced entry. Sherlock walked through, taking in every detail. Harry followed close behind him, much more nervous that he usually was. He almost screamed when Fred and George came up behind him. 

“Guys, you can’t do that. It’s an actual murder scene,” he hissed angrily. Fred and George apologised, both looking guilty. Harry sighed and continued walking, his hand on his gun. 

When they came to the living room, Fred and George stopped in shock. A young man of around thirty was splayed out on the floor, a look of pure terror on his face. There were a few footprints in the dust, leading from the centre of the room to about a meter away from the wall before disappearing entirely.

‘The Boy Who Lived Shall Die’ was burned into one of the walls, embers still glowing around the letters. 

“You’re the boy who lived, Harry,” Draco whispered. 

“I know that,” snapped Harry, louder than he had intended. 

“You know what, Harry?” asked John.

“Nothing,” replied Harry, inspecting the footprints. “Three days old, size eight, uk, around 170 cm tall, and-” he picked something up off the ground- “shoulder length hair, ginger. And, judging by the footprints, we have a wizard on our hands.” Sherlock swore. 

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” John asked.

“To dissaperate, or teleport basically, you turn on the spot. It explains why the body has no external injuries, and why he wrote about the Boy Who Lived,” answered Harry, recalling a book he had read at the beginning of the year. John didn’t look any less confused.

“So a Death Eater?” asked Draco. Harry nodded. 

“How the hell am I supposed to find a Death Eater if he can teleport?” asked Sherlock angrily. “And who the hell is the Boy Who Lived?”

“Well, there’s a tracking potion I can make if we go to Diagon Alley, and Harry’s the Boy Who Lived,” said Hermione. 

“You’re off this case,” said John.

“Wha- No!” yelled Harry. “I can help!”

“You can help from home. I’m not putting you in danger for one murder,” said John. Harry knew it was pointless to argue, but that didn’t stop him.

“You can’t do this without me! I’m the one who knows magic here!”

“Maybe, but I’m not taking that chance. Fred, George, Hermione, Draco, could you please take a taxi home?” Sherlock chucked his wallet to Harry who caught it before storming out angrily, his friends close behind. 

They climbed into a waiting taxi.

“Charing Cross Road. I’ll tell you when to stop,” said Harry to the cabbie before they drove off. Draco looked at him oddly. 

“What ingredients do you need for the tracking spell?” Harry asked Hermione.

“Just a few simple things. I’ll know them when I see them,” she replied. Harry nodded.

“Shouldn’t we be going back home?” asked Draco.

“What my dads don’t know can’t hurt them,” replied Harry. Fred and George smiled.

When they stopped outside The Leaky Cauldron, Harry paid the cabbie and the five of them climbed out. Harry pulled up his hood to cover his face and they all went inside the stuffy pub. Nobody recognised them and they managed to get into Diagon Alley pretty quickly. 

It was far emptier than it had been the first time Harry had been there, but quite a few people recognised him. He dodged most of them, but a few had to be hit with a small spell to make them go away. 

They went to just about every store, mainly looking at cool things and buying what they needed to solve the case. Just as they were leaving The Apothecary, Harry bumped into someone wearing pure white, with bright green hair and black aviators.

“Do I know you?” Harry asked, feeling like the person was familiar.

“I should hope not, young Harry,” they replied before slipping off into the crowd. 

“Who was that?” asked Hermione.

“Who was who?” replied Harry, confused. 

“The person. They had, umm… er… I can’t remember,” said Hermione sadly. Harry looked at her oddly, until that conversation also slipped from his mind. He checked his watch.

“We should go. My dads’ll be home soon,” he said, walking back to the Leaky Cauldron. Everyone followed after him and arrived back at the flat only a few minutes before John and Sherlock. Everyone rushed up to Harry’s room and picked up various books to make themselves look busy.

“I know you didn’t go straight home,” said Sherlock when he came into the room. “But, if you show me how to make the tracking potion, I won’t tell John.” Harry nodded and grabbed the potion ingredients and a cauldron. Everyone came down from his room to the kitchen. 

A few long hours later, the potion was complete. Harry dropped the hair in. It dissolved immediately, a bluish smoke filling the air. Hermione grabbed a needle tied to a piece of string, dipping the needle in the potion before holding it over a map of London. It hung there for a moment before swinging around rapidly and tugging at the string. With a final tug, it left Hermione’s hand and planted itself firmly in the map book, right over Epsom. Sherlock took the pin out and flipped through the book, finding a map of only Epsom. 

Several times the pin landed and they switched maps, until it was landing repeatedly on one house. 

“Text me if the pin moves,” said Sherlock, putting on his coat. 

“We’ll see you in a few hours,” said John, following his husband out of the flat.

“Bye,” said Harry sadly to an empty staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write a lot of dialogue for someone who can't write dialogue.  
> Sorry for the late update, and for how bad the chapter is. I managed to forget about this for a week because I closed the tab.  
> Thank you so much to everyone that has read it! You're all awesome! And any suggestions on what should happen would be great! (I have some vague ideas that can't be implemented at the moment)


	19. Chapter 19

It was a long time before John and Sherlock came back. Ten hours, to be precise. Harry spent each and every one of them pacing in the living room, stopping only to brew a cup of coffee whenever he felt even a little tired. While it was not unusual for a case to take this long, there had never been magic involved before.

By the time the front door opened, the sun had risen and Harry was shaking. John and Sherlock both apologised for taking so long, promising to tell their son what had happened once they had slept. Harry agreed and waited on the sofa, too jittery to sleep, but too tired to do anything. 

He sat there for several hours before any of his friends woke.

Draco came into the room first, already fully dressed, but without his hair slicked back. It was the first time Harry had seen him without copious amounts of gel in his hair. Harry reckoned he looked a lot better without it. Draco looked at himself in the mirror above the fireplace and sighed.

“If I keep this up, I’ll look like you by the time Christmas is over,” he said in disdain. 

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” said Harry through a yawn. He stood up and rinsed out his coffee cup. 

“You look like you’ve been through hell and back,” said Draco. Harry rubbed his eyes and yawned again. 

“You would too if you’d stayed up all night,” said Harry, wishing he’d slept. 

A few minutes later, Hermione came into the living room, joined moments later by Fred and George. Neither of the twins looked particularly well-rested, but they both looked quite happy.

“Do you wanna head into London for presents and such?” asked Hermione.

“Alright, but my dads are gonna be asleep for the rest of the day, so we’ll have to go alone,” said Harry as he picked up his wallet. Mycroft had been giving him over a hundred pounds every month since he’d been adopted, but hadn’t given him access until only a few months before. He also grabbed his bag full of wizarding money in case they went to Diagon Alley.

Just before the five of them left, Harry scribbled a quick note explaining where they were going and stuck it to the fridge. Then they left and walked onto the busy street. Harry kept an eye out for a taxi, and, upon spotting one, stuck his hand out over the road. There was a bang and a massive, purple, three story bus appeared in front of them. KNIGHT BUS was emblazoned on the side. Harry took a step back in shock and tripped on a loose brick. 

“Welcome to the Knight Bus, emergency transport for the stranded witch or wizard. Just stick out your wand hand, step on board and we can take you anywhere you want to go. My name is Stan Shunpike, and I will be your conductor this morning.” A young man with a pimply face and a purple uniform was leaning out of the back of the bus. 

“Hiya, Stan,” said Fred, holding out a hand. 

“Five to central London, please,” said George, also offering his hand. Stan shook them both awkwardly before announcing the price and, after Harry paid, welcomed them on board.

The interior was unlike any bus Harry had seen before. Instead of a few dozen matching seats, firmly attached to the floor, there were dozens of mismatched chairs scattered around. A few of them had fallen over, a couple contained a witch or wizard, and several were lying on the floor next to their previous occupants. Harry decided against sitting and instead braced himself against the wall as the bus took off.

A few loud bangs and a lot of falling over later, the five students had reached their destination. They clambered out of the bus as fast as they could, all of them relieved to be on stable ground again. 

“Next time, we’re taking a taxi,” said Hermione as they walked towards a mall.

“We’re shopping with muggles?” said Draco in disgust.

“You can bus home if you want,” said Harry harshly, looking down slightly on his friend.

“Sorry. Old habits die hard and all that,” said Draco, running a hand through his hair. “Anyways, meet back here in an hour?” Everyone nodded and departed, all looking for the perfect presents for their friends.

An hour later, all five of them returned, none empty handed, but none completely finished.

“Onto Diagon Alley,” declared Fred, marching ahead of the rest towards the leaky cauldron. A few people looked at them oddly as they strolled through the streets, but they didn’t care.

Eventually, it came to four o’clock and the five of them headed back to the flat, laden with presents. 

“I reckon Ron’ll quite like this,” said Fred, holding up a maroon hoodie. “It’ll be a nice change from his regular gifts.” George burst out laughing, and the rest of them could do nothing but join him. 

When John and Sherlock finally got up, they were greeted by Harry and his friends rolling on the floor in laughter. Eventually, they stopped and sat up.

“Honestly, not your best joke, Fred,” said George, cracking a smile. Fred smiled back, mirroring his twin exactly. Draco sighed and turned to Sherlock and John.

“So, what happened with the case?” he asked. John sat down in his chair and got ready to tell a story.

“Well, it started out fairly normal. We arrived at his house and broke in without setting anything off. The house was rather odd, for one thing, there was almost no furniture, and at least an inch of dust covered everything from the floor to the curtain rails. If that wasn’t strange enough, the fireplace was lit, and the fire was bright green.

“It was at this point we realised we were slightly out of our depth. As Sherlock silently investigated the house, I texted Mycroft, who in turn informed the magical section of the government of our location. Less than a minute later, Sherlock and I were joined by two others, aurors I believe they were called.

“We slowly walked through the house, checking each room before arriving at the final one, right on the top floor. The door was open and the dust masked all footsteps. The aurors went in first, wands raised, ready for trouble. And trouble they met.

“While Sherlock and I were still in the hallway, dozens of spells were fired, causing the entire house to light up. We waited patiently, both knowing that entering the room armed with only guns was a death sentence.

“Eventually, the spells ended, and Sherlock and I went into the room. Both aurors were knocked out on the floor. The murderer smiled before turning on his heel. Sensing what he was about to do, Sherlock jumped forwards and grabbed onto his arm, disappearing with the wizard. 

“Of course, I had no idea where they went, so I called Mycroft immediately before checking the aurors in case they were injured. Both of them were fine, so I had no issue leaving them as I began my search for Sherlock.

“That search ended four hours later, when Sherlock texted me telling me that the wizard had been successfully detained and that it would be only a matter of time before the ministry of magic showed up to take away the wizard. Now, the reason it took so long for us to come home was because of the absurd amount of paperwork needed when a muggle refuses to be obliterated,” finished John, taking a sip of the tea that Sherlock had brought him while he had been speaking. 

“How’d you beat a wizard?” Harry asked Sherlock.

“I have my ways,” said Sherlock, his hand briefly hovering over his hidden holster. Harry grinned and turned back to his friends, all of whom were discussing John’s story. Harry felt no inclination to join in, instead, he let the conversations roll over him as he relaxed, thinking about ways magic could be used to solve crimes.

* * *

Three days later, it was Christmas. Everyone, aside from Sherlock and John, were up bright and early, earlier than they would even get up for school. They waited for Sherlock and John by watching TV, something that utterly fascinated Draco, Fred, and George.

“But how does it work?” asked Draco for the hundredth time while they were watching Horrible Histories.

“I dunno. Electricity ‘n’ stuff.” Draco huffed but stopped asking, instead pointing out times where the show was wrong and there had been magic involved. 

“I doubt that,” said George when Draco explained that real witches and wizards would get caught on purpose in the Salem Witch Trials.

“This was one of the first things we learnt in History of Magic this year,” said Hermione indignantly.

“Bold of you to assume I paid attention to any classes last year, least of all History of Magic,” said George. Hermione sighed. 

“You really are hopeless,” she said sadly. 

That whole conversation was forgotten when Sherlock and John came in, announcing that it was finally time to open presents. A small cheer went up as John sat beside the small tree, handing out the gifts.

Harry received a new chemistry set from Sherlock, three books on solving crime from John, several books on magic from Hermione, a large amount of sweets and chocolate from Fred and George, and an enchanted crystal magnifying glass from Draco. 

After all the presents had been opened and everyone had been thanked, the seven of them went out for lunch, as no one in the Holmes-Watson family could cook. 

“This has been the best Christmas ever,” said Draco when they arrived back at the flat, all fairly tired. “It’s nice to be around people that actually care about you,” he said, sitting down on the couch. Harry looked at him sadly before sitting down beside him.

“Well, get used to that feeling, because we’re gonna be here for a long time,” said Harry, wrapping an arm around his friend. 

“Yup,” said Fred.

“You’re stuck with us forever,” said George.

“Y’know, a few months ago I would’ve wanted this less than anything, and now I want nothing more,” said Draco, smiling slightly tearfully. Harry briefly wondered how bad his parents were, but decided not to ask. 

“And I never thought I would be friends with a Slytherin,” said George. Draco smiled and relaxed slightly, fiddling with one of his gifts. 

“I think it’s best you five got to bed,” said John, checking his watch. Everyone nodded and slowly made their way to bed, yawning and dragging their feet.

Harry stayed behind to bid his dads goodnight before climbing upstairs and clambering over Draco, who was sleeping on a mattress on the floor of Harry’s room. The second his head hit the pillow, Harry fell into a deep dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took so long and that it's so short. I rewrote this chapter several times, stuff happened and I wrote less often. And if stuff doesn't make sense, point it out. I wrote most of this in the middle of the night.
> 
> Anyway, thank you all so much for reading!! You're all super awesome!!


	20. Chapter 20

The rest of the winter break passed quite fast. Crime seemed to take a break over Christmas, so there were no new cases. The few days remaining in the holidays were spent roaming around London, not really doing anything aside from the occasional snowball fight. The five students couldn’t wait to get back to school, though Harry was going to miss Sherlock and John. 

On the final day, New Year's Eve, Sherlock and John took the kids out to see a firework display in Hyde Park. It was spectacular, though Harry couldn’t quite shake a feeling of unease. It grew all through the night, until it was the only thing he could think of, but each and every time he looked around the park, he detected nothing. 

When the seven of them arrived home, long after one in the morning, Harry still felt it, though he was so tired he couldn’t really concentrate. He fell asleep the second his head hit the pillow and began to dream.

_ Harry stood alone in a hallway, stone and cold. A single torch was on the wall, flickering with a green flame. He shivered, and moved closer to the torch, but the flame was cold. Something moved behind him and the shadows drew closer. He backed up against the wall, keeping his eyes on the shadows. _

_ Without warning, the torch went out and Harry was in complete darkness. A cold, harsh laugh began, quiet at first until it was all Harry could hear, echoing through the hallway. He put his hands to his ears in an attempt to block it out, but it did nothing. Harry fell to the floor, screaming in pain as the laughter tore through him. He felt something warm and wet on his hands and quickly tore them away from his bleeding ears. _

_ “Stop!” he cried, but he couldn’t even hear his own voice. Then the laughter stopped, replaced by a loud ringing in his ears. He shook his head, trying to dispel the sound, but was instead met with nausea.  _

_ Then he was somewhere else, standing in front of a golden mirror. In his reflection there was a purple turban on his head. The laughter was back, this time coming from within the turban. Harry tried to tear it off, but it grew tighter until he felt as if his head would explode. In the mirror, Harry’s eyes flashed red and his skin turned an ashy grey. He took a step back in terror and fell back on something, falling far through space until he landed on something familiar and soft. _

Harry opened his eyes, his head throbbing and ears aching. His room was bright, the sun having risen hours before. He sat up immediately and rushed to the mirror. His eyes had returned to their usual emerald green and his skin had regained its colour. He checked his ears, glad to see there was no blood, but there was still a slight ringing. He sighed and rubbed his eyes before going to the bathroom to wash the tears off his face. 

“All right Harry?” someone asked. Harry turned quickly and saw Fred leaning on the doorframe.

“Just a bad dream,” said Harry, leaving the bathroom to finish packing his trunk. Too lazy to bother folding anything, he whispered a spell and let the magic do it for him. Just as the last sock floated into his trunk, Draco returned.

“You know that’s illegal, right? The Ministry can track your magic.” He didn’t sound worried, as if he knew Harry wouldn’t get into trouble.

“The runes also cover my tracks,” said Harry. 

“I see why they don’t teach that in school,” said Draco, fascinated. 

“We’re gonna be late!” someone yelled from downstairs, probably John. Draco and Harry quickly grabbed their trunks, Harry casting a featherlight charm on each of them, and rushed down the stairs. Just as they reached the bottom and were out the door, Harry realized he'd forgotten Hedwig. He sprinted back to the room and grabbed the cage containing his sleeping owl before slowly walking back down. 

Two traffic jams later, the seven of them were rushing through Kings Cross Station, Hedwig hooting in annoyance, drawing many odd looks. They reached platform 9¾ with moments to spare. Goodbyes were rushed as Harry and his friends hurried onto the train, barely closing the door before the train began chugging away from the station. Harry and his friends waved at Sherlock and John, yelling goodbye until the platform disappeared. 

The five kids settled into the carriage, having occasional conversations about the holidays, but mainly just sitting in a comfortable silence. 

As the hours went by, almost everyone became more and more excited. They were almost back at Hogwarts! Harry, however, felt anxious and uneasy. The dream he had was still fresh in his mind, and there was only one purple turban that he knew of. The thought of seeing Quirrel scared him, and he had a feeling Dumbledore would be willing to turn a blind eye. 

“Brighten up, Harry,” said George, offering him a chocolate frog. Harry forced a smile and took the frog, too distracted to look at the card, or even taste the chocolate. The smile seemed to be enough for George though, as he grabbed a pack of Exploding Snap and began playing with his brother. 

A few hours later, the train slowed to a stop at Hogsmeade station and everyone jumped out, landing on a thin layer of snow. They walked down a small path and were met with the black carriages, still being pulled by the black horse-things. Harry knew better than to point them out, instead pretending they weren’t there. He would have to find out what they were later.

Everyone climbed into a carriage and they began moving down a long road, arriving at Hogwarts a while after the sun had set. The great hall was already filled with students, and Harry managed to slip in without anyone looking up. He and Draco sat together near the end of the Slytherin table, discussing what the following term might be like, and if anyone had tried to steal the stone as they ate their dinner.

“The alarms didn’t go off,” said Harry. “Though someone could’ve disabled them.” A few Slytherins looked towards the pair and they were quick to change the subject. 

A while later, Dumbledore stood and cleared his throat.

“Welcome back all! Yet another term of learning begins, but for now, it is time to sleep. Pip pip.” Everyone stood and began walking back to their common rooms. Harry felt exhausted, far more so than he usually would at that time of night.

“Do you think they put sleeping draught in the dinner?” he asked. Draco laughed and shook his head. 

“I think you’re bad at staying up past midnight,” Draco replied.

They reached their dormitory a few minutes later, getting changed into their pyjamas and getting ready for bed. As Harry pulled back the covers on his bed, he saw a neatly wrapped package. He looked at it suspiciously, checking for traps with a spell before opening it.

A cloak that seemed to be woven of water spilled out. It was unbelievably light and silky. He put it on, and looked at himself in the mirror. When he saw his reflection, he cried out in surprise. His body was gone! He pulled the hood on and over his face. His head also disappeared, though he could still see through the fabric quite easily. 

He took the hood off just as Draco walked in. He yelled in shock, before regaining his usual composure and inspecting the cloak.

“That’s an invisibility cloak,” he said in disbelief.

“I gathered that,” said Harry sarcastically. 

“They’re pretty rare. You should probably hide it.” Harry nodded and took it off, shoving it in his trunk just as the other first years came in. Harry then got into bed, but he didn’t feel tired anymore, just curious about the invisibility cloak.

Around half an hour later, he was the only one awake. He quietly sat up and slipped on some shoes before grabbing the cloak and putting it on, making sure he was completely covered, then he left the room.

Only when he was in the dungeon hallway did he light his wand. He slowly crept through the silent castle, avoiding teachers and prefects on his way to the library. As he entered the giant room, he could hear Draco’s voice in his ear.  _ You have access to the whole castle, and you decide to read books?! _ Harry pushed the voice away and began walking through the library, occasionally stopping to take out a book and flick through a couple pages.

When he stopped at the magical beast section, he began inspecting the spines closely, looking for anything that could tell him what the creatures drawing the carriages were. Upon finding a promising book, he sat down and began reading under the invisibility cloak.

“I know there’s a student here, I can smell it.” Harry looked up from his book as he heard Filch the Caretaker speak. He quickly shoved the book back into the shelf and extinguished his wand.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are,” Filch said. Harry held his breath as he slowly crept out of the library, past the old caretaker and his cat. The cat stopped in front of him, looking up at Harry’s face. He briefly wondered if the cloak worked on cats before she slunk away. Harry almost sighed in relief, but didn’t risk it. Instead, he picked up the pace and practically ran out of the library.

Harry ran as far and fast as he could, knowing that the school’s punishments were both cruel and unusual, and not something he wished to experience. He was soon out of breath and had to take a break, leaning against a door which he assumed to be closed. He was wrong and it opened, causing him to fall into the empty classroom. He quickly picked himself up off the stone floor and made sure his invisibility cloak was once again secure.

He was just about to leave when something caught his eye. He walked further into the classroom and saw it was the mirror from his dream. Engraved around the edge were the words  _ ‘erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi’. _

“I show not your face but your heart's desire,” whispered Harry a few seconds later. He looked into the mirror and saw himself standing next to a plaque that read  _ ‘Harry Holmes’s Consulting Detective Agency’ _ . Harry smiled at the mirror, glad to see his heart’s desire was achievable, then he left, walking back to the Slytherin common room, avoiding teachers and prefects alike.

When he reached the dormitory, he found that Draco was awake and waiting for him. 

“You should’ve woken me,” said Draco grumpily.

“I was only going to the library-” Draco sighed- “Then I found something cool. Do you wanna see it?” Draco nodded and Harry threw the invisibility cloak over both of them. They then slowly walked back to the room with the mirror. It didn’t take very long, as Harry memorised the route the first time.

When they reached the classroom, it was still empty. Harry closed the door behind them and they took off the cloak. Draco walked over to the mirror, staring at it intently.

“What do you see?” Harry asked softly. Draco whipped around, as if he’d forgotten Harry was there.

“It’s just me, but older. My mother's also there, smiling, but my father is gone. As if he never existed.” Draco looked so happy, as if there was nothing he wanted more.

“Does this mirror tell the future, Harry?” he asked. Harry shook his head and Draco’s face fell.

“It shows your heart’s desire. Mine is owning my own consulting detective agency,” Harry replied.

“Of course it is,” said Draco, smiling before turning back to the mirror. Harry felt as if that wasn’t the best idea. Something about the mirror seemed sinister, but Draco ignored him when he tried to tell him. 

“We’re going to get in trouble,” said Harry in a final attempt to get Draco to move. It worked, hid friends turning immediately, face pale. “C’mon,” said Harry, holding up the invisibility cloak. He threw it over the two of them and began walking back to the dormitory.

It was a lot harder to get back. The castle was filled with teachers and prefects, each hallway an obstacle course, not designed for two people who needed to stay very close together. There were a few close calls with Filch’s cat, but the two of them finally managed to get back to the dormitory, both exhausted.

“Who do you think gave you the cloak, Harry?” asked Draco as he got into bed.

“Who knows,” said Harry through a yawn. He took off his glasses and placed them on his bedside table before falling asleep, being met with yet another dream.

_ “You will fail, Harry, and Sherlock will fall,” someone said in a soft, Irish accent.  _

_ “You’re wrong!” yelled Harry into the abyss of his dream. The only reply came as a laugh, the same cold, painful laugh from his previous dream. Once again, it overwhelmed him until he could do nothing but curl up and wait for it to pass. _

Harry woke in a cold sweat, tears running down his face. The dream was already slipping from his mind as he got up to wash his face, and when he returned to bed, all he could remember was the laugh.

After trying to recall what had been said in the dream for over half an hour, he gave up and turned over, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep a few minutes later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one's kinda short, and that it took so long (I feel like I say that a lot).  
> Anyway, thank you to everyone that's read this far. You're all awesome!


	21. Chapter 21

“You look terrible,” said Draco as he and Harry got ready for the day.

“Gee, thanks,” said Harry as he attempted to make his hair presentable. Unsurprisingly, he failed and soon gave up. Instead, he went to wash his face and was surprised to see dark shadows under his eyes. He swore, then yawned and left the bathroom, rubbing his eyes. He grabbed a pen and some paper and scribbled a note for his dads.

_ Hi guys. I’m exhausted and they don’t serve coffee here. Could you send a pack of instant coffee, please?  
_ _ Thanks,   
_ _ Harry. _

Harry shoved the note in his pocket and began walking to the great hall for breakfast. Hedwig came with the post owls, but she didn’t have any mail, she just wanted toast. Harry gave her some before giving the note to her and sending her off.

“Let’s get some coffee from the kitchens before you fall asleep again,” said Draco, looking down at his exhausted friend.

“They have coffee here? And students can get to the kitchens?” asked Harry. Draco nodded.

“We’ll have to skip the first class, though,” said Draco. Harry nodded and the two of them walked out of the great hall, through the school, and down a staircase before arriving at a brightly lit corridor. A painting of a fruit ball was hanging on the wall. Draco walked over and tickled the pear until a doorknob appeared. He twisted it and a door opened in the wall. He and Harry climbed through into a massive, warm kitchen, filled with dozens of small creatures.

“They’re house elves,” said Draco upon noticing Harry’s inquisitive look. Immediately, one of the creatures ran up to the two boys.

“What do masters require?” he asked, bowing low to the ground. Harry saw he was wearing a sort of teatowel toga with the Hogwarts crest stamped over his chest.

“A coffee, please, if that’s okay,” said Harry, feeling a bit awkward. The house elf immediately ran off and began making a coffee.

“I guess these guys are where all the school funding goes,” said Harry as he took a seat at one of the tables that had most definitely been put there for the students benefit.

“What do you mean?” asked Draco.

“Well, there are a lot of house elves, so a lot of funding will go towards their wages,” explained Harry.

“Harry, house elves don’t get paid. They find it offensive. They’re born into serving wizards, they want to do it,” said Draco.  _ A race of slaves. How convenient, _ thought Harry, but he didn’t say that. 

“So they’re like the Ood,” said Harry, knowing full well Draco had no idea what he was talking about.

“The what?”

“The Ood were this alien race of slaves. They had a hive mind and humans sold them, saying that they had evolved to be slaves, then it was discovered that their shared brain was being controlled by humans and that they were being operated on so that they couldn’t make their own decisions, but everyone just thought it was natural. Then there was a massive Ood uprising and they were freed from slavery,” said Harry. Maybe Doctor who wasn’t the best way to explain it, but that’s how it seemed. Draco was about to say something, but was interrupted by a house elf holding Harry’s coffee and a plate of cookies.

“Your coffee, sir,” said the house elf.

“Thank you,” said Harry taking the cup. “What’s your name?” the elf looked shocked.

“S-Sigmy, s-sir,” said Sigmy.

“Nice to meet you, Sigmy, I’m Harry,” Harry held out his hand and Sigmy shook it, looking terrified. Harry smiled as warmly as he could, trying to calm the elf. The moment he let go of his hand, however, the elf practically sprinted away. Harry frowned.

“They’re just like that,” said Draco, picking up a biscuit. 

“I don’t know if that’s true,” said Harry, taking a sip of his coffee.

* * *

  
  


A few hours later, Harry was sitting in the library, researching the history of house elves. For some reason, none of the books he read went back far enough to talk about the elves without wizards. 

When he finished the book he was reading, he sighed in defeat. It seemed like house elves just came into existence to serve wizards, but that’s wasn’t how evolution worked. A species couldn’t evolve to serve, they would be killed off almost immediately. 

“Hi, Harry,” said Hermione as she sat beside him. Harry jumped, having not noticed her up until then. 

“Hiya. Do you know anything about house elves?” he asked. Hermione shook her head and Harry sighed again.

“I’ll help you look though,” said Hermione, picking up one of the books in Harry’s unread pile. Harry thanked her and picked one up himself, settling down in his chair and opening it up.

Many hours and many books later, the two of them had still found nothing. Wizards were very secretive about their history, especially when it came to magical creatures. 

“Last book,” said Hermione, picking up the last one. Harry started putting the rest back, keeping an eye out for any others that could be useful. His eyes fell upon a dusty, brown book. The spine was covered in runes. Harry picked it up and did his best to translate them.  _ Magical Creatures and Their Place by,  _ Harry couldn’t make out the name, but it didn’t really matter. He opened the book and was disappointed to see the whole thing was in runes. 

After thinking for a moment, he went to the language section and found a book on translating runes. He found what he was looking for and cast a translating spell on his glasses before returning to Hermione and starting to read the massive book. 

* * *

  
  


“I’ve got it!” he yelled a few hours later. A few people looked up, but most ignored him.  _ “In the year 1352, wizards and witches needed cheap, if not free labour, but very few could afford or convince people to work for them, and having an extra person in the house to feed was something most families couldn’t handle, so they began searching for alternatives.  _

_ “They searched for a long time before finding elves, a charming species with powerful magic but an unfortunate naivety. They were soon enchanted by the wizards, and agreed to go into service, for the small price of silver pieces. The wizards refused and instead bent the minds of the elves, forcing them into slavery and tearing away their magic if it wasn’t helpful to them. _

_ “The enchantment continued through the generations holding strong, though there would be the occasional elf that slipped out of its grasps and saw how wrong their way of life was, but they are often despised and cast out by other elves. Very few wizards remember about the spell, and just about everyone it taught that the elves way is natural,” _ Harry finished.

“I knew it!” exclaimed Hermione. “Now we just need to find a way to break the enchantment.” Harry nodded and checked the time. It was almost curfew, and he hadn’t attended a single class. Or dinner. 

“Speaking of elves, I’m gonna go to the kitchen and grab something to eat. Do you wanna come?” asked Harry. Hermione nodded and the two of them left.

When they arrived at the kitchen, the elves were only too happy to give them some food. Hermione began explaining their history to them, but almost all of them refused to listen. A couple did and nodded along. A few of them even asked questions.

“So could we be freed?” asked one of them, a small one with a round nose and massive ears. Hermione nodded.

“And you could ask Dumbledore for a wage, so you would be working here out of your own free will.” The elves looked ecstatic, but the ones still work shook their heads in disappointment. “Don’t listen to them,” said Hermione. The elves nodded to each other and all disappeared.

Harry and Hermione finished their dinners and were just about to leave when they heard a loud crack and the elves returned, all wearing small hats with ear-holes.

“Thank you, Harry and Hermione,” said the smallest of the elves. Then they all returned to work, but just about every other elf avoided them. 

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” said Hermione, sadly.

“We just need to get that spell, and then we can free all of them,” said Harry before bidding Hermione goodnight and walking down to his dormitory, falling asleep almost immediately, unfortunately not peacefully.

_ Harry stood alone, once again in a dark hallway. A flame burned black at one end, the other was stone. As he watched the black flame, it seemed to draw closer. Harry backed away until his back was pressed against the cold wall. Then the wall started to move as well, pushing Harry towards the flame. He tried to stop, but he couldn’t. _

_ Soon the flame was almost touching him, licking the ends of his shoes. There was no heat coming off the fire, it felt cold. As the wall and flame kept on moving, Harry screamed as he was pushed through the fire. It felt like pins and needles were covering his entire body, inside and out.  _

_ Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet left and he fell through the air, out of the flame, landing on a cold, stone floor. Harry got up quickly, his eyes slowly adjusting to the gloom. In front of him, he saw the mirror. He recognised it immediately as the mirror of Erised. His reflection had changed though, and he was no longer standing beside a detective agency, instead, there was something else. Harry tried to make it out, but something was gripping his shoulder.  _

_ He began to shake back and forth, the something now holding both of his shoulders.  _ Harry opened his eyes and saw Draco shaking him awake. 

“You weren’t breathing. And you screamed,” said Draco, looking worried.

“Just a nightmare,” said Harry. The other kids in the dorm were looking over Draco’s shoulder. “I’m fine, really.” They all looked doubtful, but one by one returned to their beds until only Draco was left.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked, his grey eyes filled with concern.

“I really am fine. Go back to sleep, Draco,” said Harry, turning over and trying to do the same. He couldn’t, unfortunately.

After a few hours, Harry gave up and got up, getting into his robes, grabbing the invisibility cloak and leaving the dormitory. A few kids were sleeping in armchairs, unfinished essays and open ink-pots beside them. Harry carefully stepped around them, doing his best to not make any noise before leaving the common room.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going until he arrived at the owlery. The broken windows did little to stop the chill of the night, but they allowed Harry to gaze at the stars. Harry sat down, casting a spell to stop droppings, and looked out the window.

An owl would fly in every so often, looking at Harry curiously. He would admire each of them before returning to looking down at the forest or up at the stars. 

He stayed there for a long time, watching the sun rise as the last of the owls came through, some of them with a post, some with nothing, all going to sleep. When Hedwig came in, the only snowy owl in the whole school, she flew down to Harry and landed on the ground next to him. She dropped a letter in his lap. Harry picked it up and saw that it was from Sherlock and John.

_ Dear Harry, here’s a list of sleeping tips and tricks. I hope they work.  
_ _ Love, John. _

Harry looked at the other piece of paper and read it. He’d already tried every tip written down, and none of them worked. He shoved the paper into his pocket and got up with the intent to go down to the kitchens for a cup of coffee.

He was stopped by Dumbledore just before he reached the stairs down to the kitchen.

“Mr Holmes. I haven’t seen you at any meals recently,” said Dumbledore, a forced smile present on his lips.

“I’ve been busy with my studies, Professor. I keep on missing them,” said Harry, trying to dart past the headmaster. He was stopped by a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Well, you won’t miss it today,” said Dumbledore, marching Harry into the great hall and forcibly sitting him down at the Slytherin table. “I hope you don’t think of leaving,” said Dumbledore before walking up to the staff table and sitting in his chair. Harry shivered and rubbed his shoulder.

A few minutes later, Draco came in and sat beside Harry.

“What time did you get up?” asked Draco.

“Two-ish, I’d say. I couldn’t sleep,” said Harry, looking at the toast on his plate in disdain. He didn’t really feel like eating anything, but a cup of coffee would have been nice. 

Draco saw him looking sadly at the goblet of pumpkin juice and sighed. 

“And you can’t go down to the kitchens because…?” asked Draco.

“Dumbledore,” Harry replied through a yawn. Draco sighed and got up. Harry was so tired he didn’t notice, instead, he rested his head in his arms and tried to go to sleep.

“For Merlin’s sake, Holmes,” said Draco a few minutes later, startling Harry out of his slumber. Draco placed a cup of coffee in front of Harry and sat down.

“Thanks,” said Harry before starting to drink it. He immediately felt better, though still exhausted. 

“Let’s go,” said Draco once Harry had finished his coffee. Harry nodded and followed his friend out, the bell ringing the moment they stepped out of the Great Hall. They caught up with Hermione as they began walking down to the greenhouses. 

As they walked, Hermione excitedly explained all that she and Harry had learnt about elves the day before, something that Draco found quite interesting.

“I think I’ll tell my elf, Dobby, when I get home. He’s always been a bit on the wild side.” Hermione agreed, but their conversation was cut short when they arrived in the greenhouse with moments to spare.

As Professor Sprout began talking, Harry prepared himself for the day ahead, not quite sure how ready he was to be in class. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. School really does suck the creativity out of you.  
> I also think that I should stop posting at 1 am.


	22. Chapter 22

When the day ended, Harry felt strangely off, as if he had missed something big. He recounted the day in his head, finding nothing.  _ Maybe it’s just the nightmares _ , Harry thought to himself. Still unsure, he decided to check on Fluffy and the wards he’d placed around the corridor. 

When he arrived at the corridor, hidden by his invisibility cloak, Harry cast a quick spell to check what had happened. The wards told him a few kids had tried to force open the door, and an adult had as well, though they had the body of one, but the magical signature of two. 

“Goddamn wards don’t even work,” said Harry, sighing. He moved on to checking the simpler wards, pleased to see that the door hadn’t been opened and that the dog hadn’t left. Harry briefly wondered how it was fed, but given he could still hear breathing, he was sure it would be fine. 

Harry stuck around for a while longer, casting more wards and changing a few that were fading. Even when he was done, he decided he should probably watch it, just in case. 

Around an hour later, just as he was about to leave, Harry heard someone coming. He slipped into a shadowy corner, forgetting that he was invisible, and watched. 

Dumbledore came walking down the hallway, humming a tune. As Harry watched, Dumbledore began muttering counter-spells and disabling the wards Harry had put up. Harry quickly threw on a Notice-Me-Not charm and held his breath as the old man wandered past. 

Once he was sure Dumbledore was gone, Harry took off the cloak and began checking over the wards again, recasting as many as possible and layering them in defense charms and hiding them to the best of his ability. Something was making it far more difficult than usual.

Harry was so absorbed in casting and thinking up spells he didn’t notice when Dumbledore came up behind him until the man could breathe on the back of his neck. Harry jumped and turned, raising his wand at the headmaster. Dumbledore chuckled and sent Harry’s wand flying with a flick of his own. 

“You’re silly little wards and runes aren’t going to stop my plan, Potter,” spat Dumbledore.

“Still not my name, you old bastard,” said Harry, trying to remember if wandless magic was possible. Before he managed to answer his question, Dumbledore muttered a spell and Harry felt a sharp pain burning in his head. He fell to the ground, clutching his scar and crying out until the pain became too much. 

Just before he blacked out, Harry heard Dumbledore running away. 

* * *

When Harry came to, he was lying in a soft, white bed, sunlight streaming into the room. He looked around, reaching around for his glasses. He felt them on a bedside table and put them on, his world coming back into focus. 

What he saw made him wish he’d not woken.

Dumbledore was standing beside the bed, talking rapidly to a worried-looking Madam Pomphrey.

“And you say you just found him there? On the floor? Nearly a whole day since he’d been knocked out?” she asked, looking sad.

“Yes. Some students must have thought it would be funny to set up traps around there to punish students planning on breaking the rules,” said Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey nodded.

“It’s a good thing you found him, Albus.” It was at that point Harry decided he’s had enough.

“That’s not what happened,” he said, trying to calm his anger. Both the adults jumped slightly and turned to look at him. “I was attacked.”

“By whom?” asked Dumbledore, a shine in his eyes that sent shivers down Harry’s spine. Harry weighed his options, tell the truth and be labeled a liar, taking away what little credibility an eleven-year-old had, or lie and let Dumbledore off.  _ I could always get back at him myself, _ thought Harry before saying, “I only saw that they were wearing red robes.” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

“So not a student,” said Madam Pomfrey, looking even more nervous. Dumbledore looked between Harry and Madam Pomfrey, brow furrowed. Before Harry could see what he was doing, Dumbledore had his wand in Harry’s face. There was a flash of white light, then darkness.

* * *

When Harry came to, he was lying in a soft, white bed, sunlight streaming into the room. He looked around, reaching around for his glasses. He felt them on a bedside table and put them on, his world coming back into focus. 

What he saw made him wish he’d not woken.

Dumbledore was standing beside the bed, talking rapidly to a worried-looking Madam Pomphrey.

“And you say you just found him there? On the floor? Nearly a whole day since he’d been knocked out?” she asked, looking sad.

“Yes. Some students must have thought it would be funny to set up traps around there to punish students planning on breaking the rules,” said Dumbledore. Madam Pomfrey nodded.

“It’s a good thing you found him, Albus.” Harry chose this moment to clear his throat. Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey jumped before turning to look at Harry.

“Do you remember what happened?” asked Dumbledore. Harry was about to answer before he realised that no, he couldn’t. He was sure he hadn’t forgotten it, he never forgot anything.

“I must’ve been attacked by someone. I can’t remember,” Harry said, still wracking his brain and trying to think about what had happened.

“I think I’ll leave him to rest,” said Dumbledore before leaving the room. As he opened the door, Hermione, Ron, Fred, and George rushed in, sprinting to Harry’s bedside.

“What happened?” asked Ron worriedly. 

“I-uh-I don’t know,” said Harry, still trying to remember.

“C’mon, you must remember something,” said George.

“I don’t but… the wards!” Harry exclaimed, leaping out of bed.

“Now, now, young man, you can’t go running around with a concussion like that,” said Madam Pomfrey.

“If I do this, I can see who attacked me,” said Harry. “And if I wait they might get wiped.” Madam Pomfrey sighed but allowed Harry and his friends to leave. They sprinted through the school and up to the third-floor corridor. 

As they reached the door, Harry began muttering spells to check the runes, seeing whose magical signature had passed through that afternoon.

“Just me and Dumbledore,” he said a few minutes later. “But no spells.” He sighed and continued checking before stumbling across a ward a bit further away from the rest. It was a spell tracker, one that said Dumbledore had cast a stunner, but not the kind you’d learn in school.

“It was Dumbledore,” said Harry. No one looked surprised. Harry sighed and began casting wards again, but found that none of his spells were landing, as if something was shielding the place. Harry tried a few more times before giving up, then realising his older wards were fading.

“What’s happening here?” he asked no one in particular. Nobody offered an opinion so Harry gave up. “We’ll just have to use some good old-fashioned video surveillance. I’ll get Dad to send some over,” he said. Everyone nodded and were about to go to the owlery, but the bell rang. Harry checked his schedule and saw that he had potions.

“I’ll see you guys next class,” said Harry, making his way to the owlery. His friends all said goodbye, rushing to their respective classes. 

When Harry reached the owlery, Hedwig swooped down immediately and landed on his shoulder.

“I haven’t even written the letter yet,” said Harry, taking out a pen and some paper and starting to write.

_ Hagrid, _

_ Something has been feeling off recently, and I was wondering if I could talk about it over tea. _

_ Thanks, Harry  _

Harry folded up the letter and gave it to Hedwig who flew off quickly. Upon realising there was still a long time before potions ended and Harry decided to see how difficult it really would be to get the stone. 

First, he crept into the room containing the dog, casting a song spell to put it to sleep. He was lucky enough that this time the dog fell asleep a few feet away from the trapdoor and Harry was able to open it with ease.

Harry looked down into the dark abyss and cast a Lumos charm. Even then he couldn’t see the bottom. Luckily, magic was a thing. He conjured a rope ladder and climbed down, holding his glowing wand between his teeth. 

When he reached the end of the ladder, he was only a foot or so above what seemed to be the ground. However, said floor was moving. Harry wrapped his arm around the rope and took his wand out of his mouth, shining it on the ground. It seemed to shy away from the light and Harry was surprised to see it was hundreds of interlocking vines.

“Devil’s Snare,” he said. As if it had heard him, the plant began reaching up, trying to grab onto Harry’s ladder. “You know what, no thanks.” Harry began climbing back up the ladder, allowing it to fall down the trapdoor once he’d reached the top. The dog was still sleeping.

After checking that no one was outside, Harry slipped out into the corridor and down the stairs, deciding to go back to the hospital wing as he was already feeling light-headed. 

Upon arriving, Madam Pomfrey rushed him into a bed and forced a potion into his hand. He drank it quickly, the magical substance burning the back of his throat. Instead of making him sleepy, the potion made him alert and clear-headed. A headache he hadn’t even noticed disappeared and he felt his thoughts slot into their correct places. He sighed in relief and immediately got bored. 

He grabbed his bag which he’d been wearing when he was knocked out and reached inside. There were a few books, but something was missing. It took a moment for Harry to remember what it was.

“My invisibility cloak!” he exclaimed. He searched all his pockets and looked all around the room. “ _ Accio Invisibility Cloak,”  _ he said, but even as the spell left his lips he knew that the cloak was charmed against summoning. Harry sighed and picked up a book, resigned to losing his invisibility cloak. Maybe he could search for it later, but until he was discharged, there wasn’t much he could do.

A few hours later, Madam Pomfrey returned and deemed Harry well enough to leave. Harry thanked her for helping him and left quickly, passing the third-floor-corridor on the way to the common room. Something still felt off about the whole thing, especially the magical signatures. Why would the headmaster attack him? There was nothing to gain from that. Harry sighed and decided it was time for him to return to his common room.

When he arrived at the portrait, he couldn’t remember the password. Luckily, Ron exited the portrait moments later. 

“I was just gonna look for you. Bloody hell mate, the whole house was worried,” said Ron, pulling Harry into the common room. A few people waved, but a few just seemed confused, before smiling and saying hey. 

“I think I’m gonna head to bed,” said Harry, fighting a yawn.

“But it’s not even dinner yet. Are you alright? Did Malfoy curse you?” Ron asked, looking as if he wanted to beat Malfoy to a pulp.

“Just a headache. I think it’s the concussion,” said Harry. Ron nodded and Harry went up to the dormitory, falling into his familiar red bed and blacking out almost immediately.

As he faded into unconsciousness, Harry was met with a dream, but it felt far more real than any dream he’d had before. 

_ S _ _ omeone stood in front of him, green hair, white hoodie, and black glasses. _

_ “I really thought the son of Sherlock would be better than this,” they said, looking in disdain at Harry. “Then again, I always seem to overestimate people.” The person turned and began walking away. Who’s Sherlock? Harry asked himself. He tried to say it out loud, but he couldn’t seem to talk. _

_ Harry raced after the person, reaching out to grab their shoulder and stop them, but his hand passed right through.  _

_ “Jimmy, Jimbo, James. How’s it going?” asked the green-haired individual. Harry tried to see who he was talking to, but only saw darkness.  _

_ “Just as I thought it would,” someone replied in a soft, Irish accent. The voice sent shivers down Harry’s spine, but he couldn’t place it. “The plan’s going perfectly, though I did have to make some minor employment changes.”  _

_ “I hope it wasn’t any of my men you replaced. I did pick them for a reason.” The green-haired person had an edge of anger to their voice, but something about their tone was undeniably childish.  _

_ “Your men, Fawn, are not what I would call reliable.” Fawn scoffed. “But no, it was someone else. Someone I found to be far too… what’s the word?... Ambitious for his position. But that’s not the point. Is the boy following the plan?”  _

_ “Yes, though how long the charm will last, I can’t be sure. He’s brighter than he usua- than I thought he would be. I mean to break it he only has to remember.”  _

_ “You really do make zero sense,” said the man before the dream cut out and Harry opened his eyes. _

Harry sat up immediately, shaking all over. What was he supposed to remember? And who were those people? He searched his mind, wishing his thoughts were even a little organised. He searched through his memories, finding nothing but eleven years with the Dursleys and sighed. 

_ Tomorrow _ , he thought, lying back down and trying to sleep. It worked, eventually, and the rest of the night was spent resting fitfully, his peaceful dreams sometimes being interrupted by manic laughter that felt all too familiar, but that he couldn’t even begin to place. 

When morning came, Harry felt as if he hadn’t slept at all. He yawned continually all through breakfast, Ron and Hermione telling him he really should try some sleeping tips. Harry dismissed them both and just tried his best to stay awake through a long day of classes.

Malfoy passed him in one of the halls, looking at him oddly. He looked as if he were about to say something, but Ron stopped him with a quick “Piss off, Malfoy.” The blond looked shocked and upset. Harry glared at him until he turned a corner and briefly wondered why Malfoy had looked almost friendly. The thoughts disappeared from his mind as he entered the transfiguration class and began the lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One day, I'll post on time. Until then, sorry


	23. Chapter 23

The week following Harry leaving the Hospital Wing was probably the weirdest one he’s had in a long time. For one thing, Ron kept on trying to talk to him about things that he was fairly sure never happened, and Malfoy kept on trying to talk to him, not insult him, just talk. If that wasn’t strange enough, Harry felt strangely guilty every time he insulted the blond git, as if the hate was unfounded. It wasn’t though, Harry was sure of it. He was sure there was a reason that they hated each other. If only he could remember it… 

Harry had also been plagued by nightmares. Dead bodies and crime scenes littered his sleeping mind, as did an odd-looking flat, the walls covered in newspaper clippings and a Cluedo board underneath a large mirror. There were other things in the flat too, things that might be ordinary alone, but together, were just a bit off. Harry couldn’t figure out what these things were, as dreams were always difficult to remember. For some reason, everything in his dreams was extremely familiar, even though he knew they were all made up by his imagination. 

He’d asked Hermione about it, and she’d said it was probably from a movie or something. Harry had agreed, at the time, but he’d never really watched movies. The Dursleys hadn’t let him. Though something about the Dursleys felt off too. 

The only thing he could be sure of was that his meal-time headaches had started again. What caused them remained a mystery, as did why they stopped for around half the year.

They were particularly bad one Wednesday morning, the same morning that Malfoy decided to talk to him.

“Hey, Harry,” said Draco, coming over to the Gryffindor table. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” spat Harry, holding his head in his hands.

“Well, Potter, I was going to give you some help for your headaches, but clearly you don’t want any.” Harry looked up and turned.

“Why are you doing this, Malfoy? Why are you trying to be nice? We both know this is torture for you, so why bother?” Malfoy looked strangely taken aback. He opened his mouth to say something, but Harry cut him off. “Just piss off. I can’t deal with you right now.” A flicker of hurt crossed Malfoy’s face, replaced by confusion, then steely grey malice. He turned and stalked away, leaving Harry to bury his face in his arms, trying to rid himself of the headache. 

When it became unbearable, as it usually would, Harry got up and left the Great Hall. The moment he left the room, the headache disappeared and a feeling he hadn’t even noticed lifted off his shoulders. He sighed and leaned against a wall, wishing his dreams would leave him alone. Sleep hadn’t been coming easily as of late.

“Are your headaches getting worse?” asked Hermione a few minutes later as she left the great hall. Harry looked up at her, bloodshot eyes and sunken features. “And the nightmares?” She looked at him, pity clear on her face.

“I just can’t sleep anymore,” said Harry, falling into step beside Hermione as they walked to their first class. “The dreams are too weird. I honestly prefer this to what I see.” Harry shivered slightly, closing his eyes as dozens of dead bodies filled his mind. He shook his head slightly and did his best to push the images to the dark depths of his memory.

“You should ask Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught. One of those dreamless ones,” said Ron, seemingly having appeared from nowhere. Harry jumped slightly before nodding.

“After class,” he replied through a yawn. Hermione nodded, though still looked worried. Harry knew they might start asking about the dreams, and the last thing he wanted was them to think he was some sort of… he couldn’t think of the word. Harry had an odd feeling that he would’ve known, if only something was… different? He couldn’t be sure. 

Harry soon forgot what he had been thinking as he arrived at the charms classroom, and the lesson began.

* * *

A week later, after being prescribed countless sleeping draughts that did nothing, Harry received a letter. It was unusual, written on printer paper in ballpoint. Harry slowly opened the letter, looking at the familiar handwriting, wishing he could place it.

Dear Harry.

Are you alright? You haven’t written in over a week, and Sherlock and I are worried. I understand if you’re too stressed or tired to talk, but it would be nice to hear from you again.

Lots of love,   
Dad

Harry looked at the letter, confused. He didn’t have a dad, and who was Sherlock? Was that the same person Fawn was talking about in his dream, all those weeks ago?

“Sherlock? Like, Sherlock Holmes?” asked Hermione, reading the letter over his shoulder. “How do you know him?”

“I don’t. It’s probably the wrong Harry. It is a common name,” said Harry, shoving the letter in his pocket. Harry thought for a moment before grabbing a scrap of parchment and borrowing a quill.

Sorry, but I think you have the wrong Harry. I don’t have a dad, and I don’t know anyone called Sherlock. 

Harry gave the note to the owl and it flew off, back to whoever sent it. 

As he watched the owl go, Harry felt as if he shouldn’t have sent it. Well, he couldn’t exactly stop it. It seemed odd that he would get that letter. As common as his name was, there weren’t any other Harrys at Hogwarts. Maybe the letter was meant for him, but he didn’t have a dad. That he was sure of. Right? Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t so sure. How could he remember calling someone Dad if he knew he’d grown up with the Dursleys? One of his memories was wrong, but the one with no proof felt so much more real. What had Fawn said? Just remember and the charm will be broken? It was something like that. 

“Har-Potter!” someone yelled, bringing Harry out of his thoughts and back to the great hall. He turned to see Malfoy approaching once again. 

“Why can’t you take a hint, Malfoy?! Just piss off and leave me and my friends alone! God, I hate you so much. Piss the fuck off!” Harry realised a moment too late that he’d been telling. Hundreds of eyes burned into his back as he glared at Malfoy. 

“I was just gonna tell you your Dad won’t stop mailing me.” Malfoy turned and stormed out of the hall. Who was this guy pretending to be Harry’s dad? Was it Sherlock? Harry thought about it, trying to place Sherlock in his mind. 

Then it clicked. Everything slotted back into place, memory by memory. People looked up at Harry, confused, and he sprinted out of the hall, after Draco.

Harry found him a few minutes later, walking towards the potions classroom. 

“Draco!” he yelled. The blond turned, and was shocked when Harry ran into him, holding him in a tight embrace. “I’m so sorry for everything I said. My memories were all messed up. I thought you hated me.” 

Draco took a long time to respond, standing there, thinking.

“I don’t blame you, but I don’t think I forgive you yet. I want to, but I don’t think I can.” Harry took a step back from Draco and nodded. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll make sure Dumbledore pays for this,” said Harry, a steely glint in his eye.

With that, he turned, marching away from potions and up. Draco chased after him, calling his name, trying to catch up, but Harry was pissed. 

Harry raced through the castle, charging through groups of people and walking through several ghosts. When he arrived at the gargoyle protecting the headmaster’s office, he yelled the password and ran to the staircase before the gargoyle was even fully out of the way. He sprinted up the stairs and burst through the door.

“EXPELLIARMUS!” yelled Harry, pointing his wand at the startled headmaster. The wand flew from Dumbledore’s hand and Harry caught it, shoving it in his pocket before running to the headmaster and shoving him into the wall. 

“Why did you do it?” he hissed. The headmaster smiled his horrible smile and said nothing. “Vulnero,” whispered Harry. Dumbledore cried out in pain. “Why did you do it!” Harry asked again, yelling this time. 

“It’s for the plan,” gasped Dumbledore. Harry lessened the charm slightly.

“What plan?” he asked. Dumbledore refused to reply. “WHAT FUCKING PLAN?!” Harry said the spell again, sending Dumbledore to the ground, writhing in agony, but still said nothing. Harry kicked him in the ribs, his leather school shoes breaking the old man’s rib with a loud crack. “WHAT FUCKING PLAN GIVES YOU THE RIGHT TO TAKE AWAY MY FAMILY!?” Harry kicked him again, rage filling his every nerve as he looked down on the headmaster. 

“I-I didn’t h-have a-a choice,” said Dumbledore, gasping and spluttering. 

“Who made you do it?” Harry knelt beside the wizard’s head, his voice calm, but anger etched on his every feature. Dumbledore said nothing, now looking afraid. “Who made you do it?!” asked Harry again, louder this time. Dumbledore flinched as Harry moved closer, but still didn’t answer. Harry jammed his knee into Dumbledore’s ribs.

“Fawn V!” groaned Dumbledore, his voice filled with pain and shaking in fear. Fawn like the one from my dream? thought Harry. He stood up and paced around the office, the professor still lying in pain. 

Suddenly, the door to the office burst open and five people sprinted into the room.

“What have you done?” Harry turned and looked at Professor M, standing next to Sherlock, John, Mycroft, Lestrade, and Draco. 

“He was going to send me back to the Dursleys!” spat Harry. The look of confusion and disappointment on John’s face quickly turned to rage and he stepped forward. Immediately realising what was about to happen, Sherlock and Mycroft grabbed his arms and held him back. 

“Is that true, Mr Holmes?” McGonagall asked, looking sceptical.

“Why else would I be wearing a Gryffindor uniform? Think back this past two weeks, why was I in your house?” McGonagall looked as if she were about to respond, but stopped, thinking about it for a moment before walking over to the Headmaster and helping him stand.

“What are you doing?” asked Harry, raising his wand.

“You won’t have a case if he’s dead,” replied McGonagall. Mycroft nodded and went over to help. 

Together they not-so-carefully began moving the old man. Harry knew that McGonagall could easily use a spell to transport Dumbledore painlessly.

Slowly, the seven of them moved down to the hospital wing, all of them asking dozens of questions, few of which could really be answered.

When they reached the Hospital Wing, McGonagall quickly explained everything to a confused Madam Pomfrey. The moment she realised what had happened, she healed Dumbledore and conjured some handcuffs which she then handed to Lestrade. Dumbledore stood up and turned on his heel as if trying to dissipate, but a frown appeared on his face when he realised he could. 

“Albus Dumbledore, you are under arrest under suspicion of manipulation with intent of returning a child to abuse. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.” Lestrade cuffed the startled headmaster and marched him out of the room. Everyone followed quickly, but Harry was stopped by John. 

“This court case is going to be quite difficult, as the only evidence is in your head, so stay strong, but there’s no guarantee he’ll be charged.” Harry nodded, already with a plan beginning to form. As he followed everyone else out of the school, he began running through laws and protocols in his mind, switching between muggle and magic until he had what he hoped was the perfect case. 

As they reached the edge of the grounds, McGonagall instructed all of them to grab the kettle she was holding. They did so and were immediately swept off the ground, spinning through the air. Harry’s hand felt glued to the kettle, and as the spinning got faster, he felt as if he was going to be sick.

Suddenly, Harry’s feet slammed into the ground. He let go of the kettle and stumbled, trying to regain his balance. There were a few groans and a crash behind him. It seemed the others were unable to stay standing. 

“Where are we?’ asked John. 

“Scotland Yard,” replied Sherlock. Harry looked around and saw that his father was right. They had landed right in the foyer, very much to the surprise of the police officers walking by. Lestrade ignored them and marched a disgruntled Dumbledore into a holding cell that McGonagall quickly secured with a few dozen spells.

“Right. Lestrade, I’ll help you with the paperwork, Harry, you start writing down how to organise the court, Professor, could you please figure out a way to get evidence, and John, please try not to kill anyone,” said Sherlock, already with a hand on John’s arm. Everyone nodded and went to complete their tasks, all while Dumbledore sat silently in his cell. 

Harry checked his pocket for Dumbledore’s wand countless times over the course of the day, not trusting that the headmaster would be unable to get it back. He considered breaking it a couple times, but couldn’t remember if it was legal or not. Eventually, he decided against it and just kept the wand in his hand. 

Something about the whole thing still felt off. As McGonagall instructed him on how to bottle his memories so they could be viewed by others, Harry could only think of Fawn telling him how to break the charm, even though they’d supposedly been the one who wanted it to be there. Was this all some kind of game to them? Whose side were they really on?

Lestrade tore Harry from his thoughts by telling him that the court was being organised, with a lot of help from Mycroft. They had decided on a magic/muggle mix that, if all went to plan, would sentence Dumbledore to a max-security, magic proof prison for a good while. Even though Azkaban was the wizard prison., they’re practices were inhumane and Harry wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he was the reason someone had to go through that.

While he had been researching the prison, Harry had found a few odd cases. A fairly recent one, only 11 years old, had been about a mass-murdered going straight to Azkaban without any sort of trial. While 13 people sure was a lot, there was no justice without court trials. Not to mention there were only eye-witness accounts, and the suspect had only been described as ‘raving mad, having lost his two best friends a day earlier’. It sounded to Harry as if Azkaban was the last place Sirius Black needed to be, but there were more important matters to attend to, such as the empty cell that had once contained Dumbledore, and Harry’s empty hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of you should be surprised by how long this took.  
> I am sorry though.


	24. Chapter 24

Harry had all but gone into shock after discovering the missing wand and—the slightly more pressing issue of—the missing headmaster. It took mere minutes before Sherlock, John, and Harry were piling into a police car. Lestrade turned on the sirens and sped through London, not taking his foot off the accelerator until he screeched to a stop outside of 221b. Everyone sprinted out and up into the flat, Harry summoning his trunk and all his potions things before making a tracking potion faster than he ever had before. 

While it simmered, Sherlock and John grabbed all the maps they could find, laying them out all over the living room floor. Lestrade, after everything was explained to him very quickly, grabbed a ball of string and secured it to the light, allowing enough length for it to reach the floor of all four corners of the room. Then he threaded a needle and waited with everyone else until the potion was finished. 

Even though he’d never attended a full lesson, Harry’s potion skills were incredible. He credited the immense amount of chemistry he’d done as a child and the hours spent reading potion books. Harry had made a few adjustments to the tracking potion, not only making it faster to brew, but also to make the pin adjust every single time the headmaster moved, allowing a sort of gps to be on him at all times. Harry also filled it with spells to override any anti-tracking spells that the headmaster might have thought of.

It took no more than half an hour before Harry was dipping the needle in the potion and casting a spell he’d made up to begin the tracking process. The needle swung around for a few moments before jerking violently to one corner of the room and firmly embedding itself in the paper of a map. Harry ran over to the map. Upon seeing where it was, he grabbed a more detailed map of the same area. The pin once again pierced the paper and Harry was able to see the exact address; Shieldhill Castle Hotel. 

“Can you get us there?” he asked Professor McGonagall, wand clenched tightly in his hand. She came over and inspected the map before nodding and holding out her arm. “Lestrade and Sherlock,” said Harry before grabbing his teacher’s arm. Sherlock and Lestrade were quick to catch on and both grabbed McGonagall’s other arm. The second they were secure, McGonagall turned on her heel and the four of them began squeezing through space before arriving at the gravel driveway of Shieldhill Castle. 

“I don’t have a warrant,” said Lestrade before they entered the old castle. 

“Yes you do,” said McGonagall, flicking her wand. A piece of paper appeared in her hand and she gave it to a stunned looking Lestrade. 

“Right then,” he said, strolling towards the building, one hand on his badge, the other hovering over his gun. Harry raced after him, wand hidden in his pocket, but dozens of spells racing through his mind. Lestrade burst through the door into the lobby, startling the elderly receptionist. He brandished his badge and warrant before demanding to know who had entered in the past day.

The receptionist hurriedly gave Lestrade a key and the room number before everyone sprinted up the stairs. As they neared the hallway of Dumbledore’s room, Harry cast a spell to detect wards and disabled every one he came across. 

Once he was sure it was safe, Harry led the others silently across the hall, unlocking Dumbledore’s door and opening it silently. 

The headmaster was sitting in an armchair right in front of the door, a devilish smile on his face. With a flick of his wand, he disarmed Harry and laughed slightly when Harry’s wand landed in his outstretched hand.

His laughter was cut short when Lestrade whipped out his taser and shot it at the headmaster. Dumbledore began shaking violently and slid off the chair onto the floor. Lestrade ran over, disarming the wizard and handcuffing him with the cuffs that both McGonagall and Harry had enchanted. Then McGonagall cast several more binding charms and stunned the professor. 

“I feel like this isn’t legal,” said John from the back of the room.

“Special circumstances,” replied Sherlock, helping Lestrade lift the limp headmaster. They turned to take him out of the room, but McGonagall stopped them, insisting that they dissaperate. No one looked too keen, but there were no verbal complaints as they linked hands and began twisting and squeezing through space once more. 

This time, when Dumbledore was locked up in a cell, McGonagall and Harry were there with him, their wands trained on him, waiting for the arrangements to be made that would hopefully put him in court. Others came to keep an eye on him, trusted teachers and government officials taking shifts, Harry having to be practically dragged away when his dads told him he had to go home. 

It took three days of paperwork and watching the headmaster to secure a court date. It was two weeks away. 

Every day of that fortnight was spent in almost panic-inducing anxiety. Harry was terrified that Dumbledore would escape, or wouldn’t be charged, or cast another spell and get Harry sent back to the Dursleys. He’d started having nightmares, what little he could remember of his aunt and uncle haunting his every resting moment. All thoughts of the Philosopher’s Stone were pushed from his mind, replaced with him waking up in the middle of the night, terrified that he was back in the cupboard. 

John and Sherlock would basically sit outside of his door, waiting for the inevitable screams before running in to comfort their son. It only got worse when Dumbledore reminded Harry of Fawn and Voldemort. His dreams soon became warped nightmares of a red-eyed Vernon Dudley standing over him while Fawn stood laughing in the corner, though they somehow appeared concerned at the same time. 

On the fifth night of his nightmares, Harry finally gave up. Sleep left him exhausted and often terrified. When he was sure his dads had gone to bed, he slipped down to the kitchen and made himself a strong cup of coffee, slowly walking back to his room, sipping the steaming cup. 

As he sat in his dark room, nothing but caffeine to keep him company, Harry began reading up on old wizard cases. Draco was able to post him dozens of files, all of them seemingly incomplete or missing important evidence that the suspect was even guilty. The more Harry read, the more doubt he had in the wizarding court system. Several people had gotten out of their sentences entirely by ratting out other people. Others hadn’t even had trials, even though the evidence against them was minimal, lessened even more when you thought about magic. 

Days passed with Harry barely leaving his room, in a caffeine-induced craze, trying to find a way to prove that without even a shadow of doubt, that Sirius Black was innocent, and that Dumbledore was completely guilty. It was proving quite a challenge, but on the morning of Dumbledore’s trial, Harry sprinted from his room, a binder filled with hundreds of scribbled notes under his arm and proudly dropped it in front of Sherlock.

“I did it! Dumbledore’s gonna be in prison for the rest of his life!” he exclaimed, before passing out on the carpet. 

He woke up an hour or so later, John sitting beside him worriedly while Sherlock read the case against Dumbledore. 

“The trial’s in half an hour, so you better get changed,” said John once he saw his son was awake. Harry nodded and stood up, slowly regaining balance and consciousness as he walked up to his room. 

His suit was already out, hanging on the door of his wardrobe, his freshly shined shoes beside them. The thought of putting them on, going into court, and risking Dumbledore being freed made him sick to his stomach, but he forced the feeling down, deciding to deal with it later, and got changed, anxiously adjusting his tie before heading back downstairs. 

John and Sherlock were waiting for him, and together the family walked together down onto the street and into a waiting taxi, all of them hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not quite back, but I had a small amount of free time and was able to write this. I don't know when I'll get the chance to post again, but until then, enjoy this. And thank you for waiting.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finished my other projects (finally), so I should be returning to semi-regular updates. Plus the holidays start soon, so I might have more time. Anyway, thank you so much for waiting! It's insane how many of you there are, like, I can't believe it. Thank you so much :)

The court case had gone less than smoothly. Dozens of witnesses, magical and muggle jury, and almost none of it organised. Harry sat at the front, between Sherlock and John, trying to avoid looking at the once-headmaster who was standing in front of him, handcuffs and chains glowing with magical energy and covered in binding runes. At the front of the room, the muggle judge and wizard wizengamot were having a heated discussion.

The judge soon got fed up and banged her gavel, calling for order. The bustling jury and witnesses settled down, grumbling and groaning, knowing this was going to be a very long case. Harry could feel fear and anger radiating off of just about everyone in the courtroom. He tried to distract himself, analyzing the people surrounding him, but found even that too stressful. 

“You can leave once you’ve given your witness statement,” said John, trying to comfort his son. Harry nodded and gulped slightly, fidgeting with his tie. 

Soon, the court proceedings began, quite unlike any Harry had been to. The combination of wizarding and muggle practices making for an interesting watch. It may have been entertaining were it not for the consequences of Dumbledore not receiving a sentence. 

Evidence was presented, analysed, and questioned a lot. The wizards seemed to want to keep Dumbledore free of guilt, whereas the muggles saw how evil his actions were, and wanted justice. This led to dozens of arguments that definitely broke court rules, as well as Harry’s memories being shown over and over again, the wizards insisting that they had been tampered with, yet unable to find any proof of tampering. 

Many long, long hours later, a while after Lestrade had taken Harry back to the flat, Sherlock and John came home. Neither of them seemed sober, but Sherlock was the only one trying to hide it. As John saw Harry, his face lit up and he giggled. 

“Life in max security,” he said, before collapsing onto the carpet.

“Jesus Christ, John,” said Lestrade, jumping up from his spot on the sofa and helping Sherlock lift the drunk man to his bedroom. Lestrade returned alone. “Sherlock passed out,” he said, shaking his head. “You good, Harry?” The boy was hugging his knees, curled up on the floor. Lestrade ran over, kneeling beside the boy.

“He’s gone,” said Harry, his voice weak and child-like. 

“He’s gone,” confirmed Lestrade. Harry sat up and grabbed Lestrade, pulling him into a long hug, his tears soaking Lestrade’s jacket. Lestrade, after getting over his initial shock, hugged the boy back. “You did it.”

At some point, Harry fell asleep, he couldn’t quite remember when, but he woke in his suit, lying on top of his bed covers. It took him a moment to recall the events of the previous day, and grinned once he did. 

“Dumbledore’s gone.” The words alone seemed so incredulous, unlikely, but Harry knew they were true. He got up and changed into something more comfortable before going downstairs to greet his fathers. 

“You’ll be going back to Hogwarts on Monday, if you want to,” said John once he had greeted his son. Monday, two days from then. Harry considered it for a moment, before remembering his friends, and nodding excitedly. He hadn’t really realised how much he’d been missing Draco, Hermione, and the twins until he thought about it. 

Sherlock and John decided to take Harry to the aquarium, as a reward for getting a good enough case for Dumbledore to be locked up. Harry agreed, excited, but something about the whole case felt off. He decided to think about it later, and for now, just enjoy the aquarium. 

Harry, Sherlock, and John arrived home quite late, Harry insisting that they couldn’t leave the aquarium until it closed, as he did every time he went. Waiting patiently in Harry’s room was Hedwig, a few dozen letters scattered around her. Harry recognised all the handwriting immediately and sat on his bed, slowly starting to read the messages from his friends and writing his own replies.

Slowly, the writing got to Harry, and he began to drift off, falling asleep before he even closed the ink-bottle. Unfortunately for Harry, with sleep, comes dreams, and dreams for Harry always seemed to be nightmares. 

_ Harry stood in a moonlit forest, a light wind rustling the branches above him. He took a step forward, his shoes sinking into the mossy ground slightly. Wary about stepping into anything dangerous or on something alive, Harry kept his eyes glued to the ground in front of him. As he did, he heard a sort of slithering sound, accompanied by a soft his. Harry paid it no heed, until the snake slithered over his foot. It was the size of a boa constrictor, only it had the markings and body shape of the small, venomous, tiger snake. Harry clapped a hand over his mouth and tried his best not to move, waiting for the snake to pass before continuing.  _

_ As the snake slid over his shoe, the scales on its underbelly seemingly pulled apart the sneaker. Harry looked at it in shock, but still refused to move until it disappeared into the undergrowth. Once Harry was sure it was gone, he continued walking, travelling deeper and deeper into the woods, the moon seemingly getting dimmer with each step. _

_ Harry had no idea how long had passed before he arrived at what seemed to be his destination. It was a small clearing in the forest with a small creek bubbling around the edges. Bones and rodent carcasses were scattered around the centre, and the moon reflected off a pure white horse lying in the very centre, lighting up the whole clearing. The horse, a beautiful creature, had all its limbs spread awkwardly, a few of them appearing broken. Harry thought the horse was dead, but its chest rose and fell, though weakly and without any sort of rhythm. Underneath it was a pool of silver. Harry couldn’t tell where it came from, but if he hadn’t known better, he would’ve said it was blood.  _

_ The longer he looked at the horse, the more Harry wanted to run over and help it, but he found himself frozen in place. As he watched, the horse’s breathing became shallower and shallower, until it stopped a few moments later. The moment it died, the whole forest became darker and colder, as if it knew a great act of evil had been performed. Harry wanted to cry out, but no sound came. Instead, he was forced to watch in silence as a figure cloaked in black emerged from the edge of the clearing. Harry watched in horror as the figure knelt in front of the horse, looking as if it were about to eat the horse. Harry felt bile rising in his throat and forced it down.  _

_ There was a crack of twigs behind him. Harry whipped his head around and saw another figure, this one dressed in white with a shock of green hair.  _

_ “Fawn,” whispered Harry. Fawn looked at him, and Harry gasped. They weren’t wearing their glasses, and where their eyes should have been were two spheres of white light, black spreading across the white like cobwebs. Fawn grinned, revealing shark-like teeth, but the grin was warm, almost cancelling out their inhuman features. They raised a finger to their lips, telling Harry to be quiet before walking into the clearing.  _

_ “Hullo, Voldy,” said Fawn, casually kicking a small ribcage out of their path. The cloaked figure looked up and turned, silver blood rolling down their chin, though Harry couldn't make out their face. _

_ “What are you doing here, boy?” asked Voldemort, exasperated.  _

_ “Not a boy, but old people are stupid, so I’ll let it slide this time.” Voldemort hissed. “Right, yeah, anyway, Dumbly-dore is locked up, so, you’re welcome, uh, yeah, that’s it.” Fawn began walking away, but Voldemort stepped in front of them. Fawn seemed mildly annoyed, but didn’t try to get past. _

_ “That was not part of the plan,” hissed Voldemort. “He was supposed to die.” _

_ “Coolio. However, I have two rules, number one, no killing people that I don’t hate, and no killing kids, no matter how annoying. I’ve only broken one of them once, as for the first rule, be glad I need you alive, Voldy.” Something shifted in their voice, it deepened and hardened, like an immense power was being suppressed, and it was not the kind of power that you’d want to lose control of. Harry gulped and took a step back, snapping a twig. Voldemort swung round and began gliding across the undergrowth, arms outstretched. The moment he looked at Harry, a sharp pain shot through his head. Harry turned and fled, running as fast as he could through the forest, but every time he checked behind him, Voldemort was closer, and the pain in his head was worse. _

_ “Brought you too close. Sorry, Harry.” Harry looked to his side and saw Fawn running beside him, keeping up as if it were nothing. They reached out and touched a finger to Harry’s temple. The pain stopped immediately, and Harry fell to the forest floor.  _

Harry woke drenched in sweat, his head throbbing. He flicked a lamp on and saw that the ink he’d been writing the letters with had fallen off his bed with the letters, drenching the carpet and letters with deep black ink. Harry sighed, the dream leaving his mind as he picked up the ink bottle and his wand, casting a quick spell to get the ink out of the carpet and letters, back into the bottle. As he corked the bottle, he tried to remember what the dream had been about, but all he could remember was Fawn’s eyes. They were burned into the backs of his eyelids, white and black, and so inhuman. Harry shivered and tried to shake the image, distracting himself by returning to his letter writing. 

A few hours later, Hedwig, once more laden with letters, flew out of Harry’s window. Harry watched her go, her path lit by streetlights and the dim moon. 

As she disappeared over the horizon, Harry sighed and sat back on his bed, turning his lamp off before lying down and trying to go back to sleep, but found that he couldn’t. Small snippets of his dream were coming back to him, but only the pain in his head and the dead horse, playing over and over again. Harry felt as if he was going to be sick. 

After around half-an-hour, he gave up and went downstairs, turning on the tv and curling up on the sofa, hoping that the tv would distract him enough to sleep, or at least entertain him until the sun rose. Unfortunately, it was the latter, and Harry was beyond exhausted when Sherlock and John emerged. 

“Bad dream?” asked John, looking at the bags under Harry’s eyes. Harry nodded and got up off the sofa, making a cup of coffee to take the edge off his exhaustion. It barely worked, but Harry didn’t mind. He had no plans for the day, and was content to sit on the sofa and watch TV while Sherlock and John worked on a case.

The next day was Harry’s last at home before returning to school, and he spent it packing and rifling through his case files, searching for the wizard ones that he wanted to repeal. Even though it was 10 years old, he was sure he could do something about it, as every fibre of his being told him that Sirius was innocent, but he still needed more than a gut feeling. 

Harry’s journey to Hogwarts was short, a journey through the floo system that 221B had been rigged up to for the afternoon. In fact, saying goodbye to his fathers had taken far longer, though with the term ending soon, there were no tears. 

“Don’t forget to write!” yelled John as Harry stepped into the fireplace and whizzed away to Hogwarts, falling rather ungracefully onto the Headmistress’s office floor moments later.

“Nice to see you again, Harry,” said Professor McGonagall, helping Harry off the floor.

“Same to you,” replied Harry as he dusted himself off and picked up his trunk. 

“Breakfast started a few minutes ago, so you should arrive in good time,” said McGonagall as she ushered Harry out of the door. He nodded and dragged his trunk, the heavy bag thudding down each of the stone steps until Harry was out of sight of the headmistress, at which point he shrunk his trunk down and put it in his pocket and used a spell to get rid of the rest of the soot that covered his robes. Then he continued walking down to the Great Hall.

“Harry?” Draco looked up from the parchment he was scribbling on as Harry sat beside him.

“One and only,” said Harry, grinning. Draco smiled and pulled Harry into a hug. “I missed you too.” 

Hermione came over a few moments later, hugging Harry too. 

“You’ve got to tell us everything!” she said as soon as Fred and George arrived. Harry nodded and started talking, glad to be with his friends again, all thoughts of Sirius Black leaving his mind as he settled into the story. 

He finished only moments before the bell rang and the five of them set off to their classes, Harry going to the library as he had potions and Snape still seemed to hate him. On his way, he passed by the third-floor corridor to check the wards, and was surprised to see the door open and the hallway empty of all but the open trapdoor. 


	26. Chapter 26

“Fuck!” yelled Harry upon realising what he was looking at. A passing ghost tutted and threatened to report him, but Harry ignored them, sprinting down the hallway and skidding to a stop just before the open trapdoor. “ _ Lumos Maximus.”  _

Even with the bright light of his wand, Harry couldn’t see a floor or ladder. After thinking for a few moments, he cast an air cushioning charm, hoped it would hold, and slid feet first into the trapdoor, free falling for several seconds before landing on his charm. It held for long enough for him to catch his breath before it disappeared and dropped him about a foot onto another soft surface. 

It took a few seconds before he sat up and recast lumos, looking at where he landed. It seemed to be a kind of plant, writhing underneath him, shrinking away from the light. Devil’s Snare. As Harry sat there, the tendrils began approaching, wrapping themselves around his calves, slowly creeping up his legs.

“INCENDIO!” he yelled, far louder than necessary, but he was beginning to panic. The plant retreated immediately, releasing him and letting him drop a couple meters to the floor. He landed hard on his feet, rolling forwards to absorb some of the impact, not because he lost his balance and fell over. 

After dusting himself off, he shone the light around the small room he’d landed in. It was empty, only stone walls and a doorway, the door hanging off its hinges. Harry gulped, wishing he’d waited to bring Draco and Hermione with him. It took him a few moments to get up his nerve enough to go through the doorway. As he did, he saw the wood of the door was covered in scorch-marks and scratches, parts of it cracked entirely. 

The damage continued into the hallway, parts of the door smouldering on the floor, the only light aside from Harry’s wand. He knelt beside a piece, the embers warming his hands as he tried to guess how long ago it had been lit. It couldn’t have been more than a couple hours. Harry shivered, recalling several defensive spells before standing back up and continuing through the hallway.

As he approached the end of the hallway, he heard something that sounded like fluttering wings, like a few birds had somehow been trapped underground. Apprehensive, Harry slowled his walking and prepared himself for the worst before entering a massive chamber with a domed ceiling. Against the wall was a single broomstick, around it shards and splinters of at least two others. They too were burnt and glowing orange with embers. Harry shuddered before looking around the rest of the stone chamber.

The floor was littered with hundreds of what seemed to be birds, or massive insects, but on closer inspection Harry saw that they were winged keys. Above him flew less than a quarter of what was on the floor, all with damaged wings. 

The further he walked into the room, the worse he felt. By the time he reached the opposite wall and the open door, he felt like he was going to throw up. He forced the feeling down before continuing through to the next room. As he stepped through the threshold, the door rattled behind him. Harry turned and saw that it was trying to shut, but something he couldn’t see was holding it open. 

It gave him a bad feeling, but so did everything else at that point, so he ignored it and inspected the room he had just entered.

The floor was black and white marble, alternating squares. Resting on top of the checked floor was chess pieces made of black marble, standing far taller than Harry. Remnants of other pieces were scattered around the rest of the room. Harry slowly stepped onto the board, wary of the pieces and praying that they wouldn’t come to life. Unfortunately, as is often the case in places of magic, the pieces were enchanted, and sprung to life to block his path. Harry took a step back in shock. 

“I gotta play my way across,” he said quietly. One of the pieces behind him nodded. Harry sighed. He’d always hated chess. It was too slow, and Cluedo was more fun. He wasn’t bad at it, but he was far from perfect, and he really didn’t want to risk anything. He was about to start when the door behind him rattled once more. 

“Broomsticks!” he exclaimed, running out of the room, stepping on dozens of keys before grabbing the broomstick and running back to the room. He skidded to a stop before reaching the chessboard, hesitantly mounting the broomstick before kicking off. 

The broom rose unsteadily for a moment, as Harry slowly let his feet leave the ground. The moment he was fully in the air, Harry’s breath hitched, but he forced himself to calm down and slowly fly forwards. 

As he leaned forwards, he felt himself relax. This was where he was meant to be. He stopped shaking entirely and flew through the room, over the chess pieces who made no attempt at stopping him before landing on the other side and hopping off the broom. He decided to keep it with him as he left the chess room and continued into the next hallway. 

The next room he entered was dark and entirely empty. Harry gulped, a shiver sliding down his spine. Why hadn’t he waited? There was no way he could do this alone. It was too late to turn back now. Harry steeled himself before pushing open the door in front of him, praying for the best, but preparing for the worst.

The room he entered was exactly like the last one, only the moment the door shut behind him, flames sprung up at each doorway, lighting the room enough for Harry to have a good look around.

It was stone, with a cobbled floor and pillars holding up the high-ish ceiling. In the center of the room was a table covered in bottles of different sizes and shapes, a small scroll resting beside them.

Harry approached the table warily, slowly picking up the scroll and unfurling it. Written in tiny, green handwriting was a riddle, one that most likely meant life or death for Harry.

Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,

Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,

One among us seven will let you move ahead,

Another will transport the drinker back instead,

Two among our number hold only nettle wine,

Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line.

Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,

To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:

First, however slyly the poison tries to hide

You will always find some on nettle wine’s left side;

Second, different are those who stand at either end,

But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;

Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,

Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;

Fourth, the second left and the second on the right

Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight.

Harry stared at the riddle in his hand, reading it over and over, and couldn’t for the life of him understand what it was asking. Untangling riddles was all he’d done for his whole life, but here he had no evidence, no motive, it wasn’t a case. 

It took him two minutes to give up and start casting charms on the bottles and fire, but none of them did anything. He had a feeling that Hermione would’ve figured it out in a moment and dearly wished she was there. Draco would probably be able to identify the potions just by glancing at the bottles, and Fred and George could probably blow through the walls, but Harry could do none of that. He was well and truly stuck. 

‘C’mon you stupid brain, figure it out!” he yelled, kicking the stone wall. The moment his toes collided with the wall, his life flashed before his eyes and he cried out. “You fucking idiot,” he said to himself, sliding to the floor and gripping his foot, wishing he could remember a goddamn healing spell. 

Hour after hour passed, none of them bring help or rescue. Harry’s eyes blurred and he could no longer read the riddle, let alone figure it out. The longer he sat in the room, the warmer it got, and the heavier his eyelids became. 

Harry woke with a start as he heard footsteps by his head. He straightened his glasses and retrieved his wand. 

“Who’s there!?” he asked, casting Lumos less than a second later. The bright light from his wand showed two figures, one of a woman, the other of a hulking mountain troll. As soon as he saw the creature, the smell of it hit him and he gagged. It was like rotten eggs and curdled milk had been left in the sewers for several months, something he had in fact smelt before, only that time it had been alongside a decaying body. That was by far the grossest case he had been on… 

“Tell me who you are!” he called again, pointing his wand right in the woman’s eyes. She raised a hand to block the light. As she did, Harry saw burn marks on her wrist, familiar ones from too-tight handcuffs that had been worn for too long. Harry’s hand shook as she ducked out of the light and crouched before him. 

“Don’t you recognise me?” she asked, feigning offence. Harry took a closer look at her face. There was something familiar in the curve of her face, her cheekbones, and her sharp eyes that zeroed in on Harry’s own. “It seems not. I would’ve thought my little brother might’ve mentioned me, I mean, he was always forgetful, my little Sherlock.” Harry’s breath hitched and he tried to edge back from the woman in front of him.

“Dad doesn’t have a sister,” he said, gripping his wand so tight his knuckles turned white. 

“Dad? I thought he’d want to go by something more formal than that. Hmm. Well, that doesn’t matter. What does matter is you coming with me. Come along, Holmes.” She offered a hand, but Harry refused to move. She sighed and all remnants of kindness fled from her face. She reached down and took Harry by the arm, her grip so tight it hurt, and hauled the small boy to his feet. “I said come.” Harry started shaking even more, but followed behind the woman. 

Then he remembered the wand in his hand and got ready to cast a spell, but was stopped by the troll reaching down and brushing Harry’s wand, snapping it in two. Harry could do nothing but stare in a shocked silence as half of his wand hit the floor and rolled away, still flickering slightly, but casting the room back into darkness. 

The shock of losing his wand left Harry without thought. No plans to rescue himself, or get away, or even to find out more about the woman whose nails were digging into his arm. The only thing going through his head was the image of his broken wand rolling aroun on the dark cobblestone floor.

Harry allowed himself to be dragged through a final doorway, into the last room, the only one with no door at the other end. The stone walls and high ceiling held nothing aside from a mirror, standing in the very center of the room, casting the only light. 

“Now,” the woman knelt in front of Harry, forcing the young boy to look into her piercing grey eyes, “You’re going to go up to that mirror, and you’re going to get me the Philosopher’s stone, or I am going to go up stairs and kill every one of your little friends. You got that?” Harry gulped and nodded. “Good. Off you trot.” She stood up and let Harry walk past her to the center of the room, to face the mirror.

Harry recognised it immediately as the mirror of erased, only this time his reflection was different. He was standing in the stone room, looking just as exhausted and afraid as he felt, only there was a knowing glint in his reflection’s eye. The reflection put a finger to his lips before dropping something into his pocket. Harry felt the extra weight band against his leg, but he tried his best not to show his surprise.

“I-uh-I don’t know what to do,” said Harry, voice quivering as he hoped the woman behind him couldn’t read him like her supposed little brother. 

“God, you are far more stupid than I anticipated. It’s quite simple, really, you just look in the mirror and think very hard about the fact that if you don’t get the stone, your friends will die.” The spoke in a sing-song-voice that would have been mesmerizing if she had been saying anything else. 

As Harry turned back to the mirror, he felt his mind slow down slightly and his thoughts fall back into place. It took him less than a moment to rearrange them and begin coming up with a plan. Dozens and dozens raced through his mind, none of them gaurenteed, most of them resulting in his or his freinds’ deths. 

“Do me a favour Harry.” Harry jumped, torn from his thoughts, and felt his heart begin to pound even faster. “Empty your pockets.” Just as Eurus said this, Harry remembered his minutarised trunk resting right beside the stone. 

As discreetly as he cold, he edged it open and shoved the stone inside, hoping his charms would hold without his wand. They seemed too, as when he dumped the condense of his pockets, his trunk, half his wand, a few chocolate wrappers, and a random Cluedo piece, the woman seemed very disappointed.

“Maybe you don’t care enough about your friends for this to work…” she trailed off, pacing slightly before turning back to Harry, an evil grin lighting up her face. “If you don’t hand me the stone, I will kill Sherlock and John.” The moment the names left her lips, Harry was on the floor, rifling through his miniature trunk before bringing out the stone and chucking it at her. 

“There. Now let me go back to class,” said Harry, his voice finally stopping its waver.

“That was never part of the deal, young Harry. I think you’ll come with me.” With that, she grabbed Harry’s arm once more and yelled something Harry couldn’t pick up on. Less than a second later, there was a loud band, sounding almost like the crack of a whip, and Harry felt himself folding in on himself, his insides crushing as he was forced through space. 

His lungs refused to let in air, and Harry felt as if he was about to pass out before his feet collided with solid ground and he returned to his Normal self, only far more shaken up. 

Harry barely had time to look at his surroundings, a white sandy beach lined with cliffs before the woman began marching off, dragging a very confused Harry with her. 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stuff happened, as it so often does, and I barely had any time to write, so I’m sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy it, and thank you so much for reading. It really means a lot.


	27. Chapter 27

“Where the hell is he?” Draco muttered as he paced the length of the Slytherin common room. It was well past midnight and he hadn’t seen Harry since breakfast. The idiot had probably jumped down the trapdoor and snapped his neck. Draco’s stomach sank at the thought and he immediately sprinted into their shared dormitory, rummaging through Harry’s trunk until his hand closed around the silk-like fabric of the invisibility cloak. He pulled it on as he ran back to the common room and out into the dungeon hallway. 

Draco sprinted through the school, not stopping until he reached the door to the Ravenclaw common room. He stared at it for a few moments, trying to remember how to get in, then the eagle door-knocker spoke.

_ If you drop me I’m sure to crack, but give me a smile and I’ll always smile back. What am I? _

“Fuck. I don’t have time for this. Uh, an egg with a smiley face drawn on. I don’t fucking know.” Draco tried to remember if he had to defend his answer, but the eagle seemed silenced by the pure stupidity of the answer. “Am I right or not? The thing’ll smile back and it’ll crack, open the goddamn door!” The door slowly creaked open and Draco shoved the door open. 

Inside was a dimly lit room, the walls lined with bookcases, and several armchairs around a fireplace, not unlike the Slytherin common room. Seated in the chairs were a few students, all surrounded by piles of books and parchments, a few of them sleeping with open books in their laps. All of those who were awake turned to look at the open door immediately. Draco realised he was still invisible and tried to think of a way to get Hermione. 

“Get me Granger or I’ll soak all your books!” yelled Draco in his best imitation of Peeves. No one acted until he knocked over a massive pile of books, several of them nearly hitting the fire. The moment the students realised that their precious books were in danger, one of the girls shot up from her seat and ran to the girls’ dormitories, re-emerging minutes later with a bed-haired Hermione following close behind. Without question, she shoved the poor girl out of the common room and into the hallway, Draco following quickly before the door was slammed shut. 

“Wh-what’s going on?” asked Hermione, rubbing her eyes. Draco pulled off the invisibility cloak and took Hermione’s arm, leading her out of the hallway. “Draco? What’re you doing?” she asked, yawning.

“Harry’s missing.” That woke her up immediately. She looked up and grabbed the cloak, throwing it over the both of them.

“You should’ve said so sooner,” she said. “Are we getting the twins? Actually no, that’ll be too difficult. Gryffindor's password changes too often and neither of us know the current one, so we’ll have to just brave it alone, which is what Harry probably did. That idiot. Anyway, to the third floor corridor.” Draco had forgotten how much Hermione could ramble, but was glad for it; it helped with his nerves. 

Luckily, they came across no teachers of prefects as they half-ran to the third floor corridor, and there was no one outside the door as they unlocked it and shoved it open. Both were surprised to see that Fluffy was gone, but concerned to see the trapdoor open, the darkness seemingly leaking out, an aura of menace coming from it. Draco and Hermione gulped before edging towards it, dropping the cloak beside it.

“ _ Lumos,”  _ said Hermione, leaning over the trapdoor and shining the light below. “I can’t see anything,” she said. Draco knelt beside her and looked too. Hermione began whispering under her breath, and a few moments later, the trapdoor was transfigured into a spool of rope. 

“Nice,” said Draco, fastening the rope to a bracket on the wall. He then dropped the end down the hole. “Lady’s first,” he said, his face paling slightly. 

“Alright then,” replied Hermione, casting an air-cushioning charm, praying it worked, before jumping down into the darkness. 

She landed on something soft a few seconds later, and called up to Draco, telling him it was safe. 

“Are you certain?” asked Draco, his voice wavering slightly. 

“Just jump, goddamnit!” yelled Hermione, moving away from the center of the floor. As she did, she felt the floor move beneath her. Before she could get a proper look at it, she heard a piercing scream before Draco landed beside her. 

“It’s a good thing there’s this cushiony stuff here,” said Draco, his voice definitely shaking now. 

“Sure,” said Hermione, watching silently as vines began twisting around Draco’s ankles. “Draco, look at me. I’m gonna need you to relax.” This was seemingly not the right thing to say, as panic immediately flickered in Draco’s grey eyes. Hermione sighed, feeling. herself sink through the plant. “Stay calm!” she called before sinking through the plant entirely and disappearing from Draco’s view. 

“Devil’s snare,” Draco realised. He sighed, and began concentrating on relaxing. It was proving quite difficult, as the vines refused to stop climbing up his legs, wrapping around his torso, and coming dangerously close to his throat. “You have to save Harry,” Draco said under his breath, concentrating on his friend’s face and praying it would be enough. 

Just as the vines reached his neck, Draco let out a breath and with it his whole body went still. With his eyes closed, he recalled the feeling of flying, playing quidditch, Harry and his other friends. Then he felt himself falling, slowly sinking, then a brief free fall. There wasn’t even time for him to scream before he landed with a thud on the stone floor. Hermoine was already on the other side of the room, looking worriedly at the charred remains of the door.

“We’ve got to find him,” she said, stepping out of the room and into the hallway.

“We will, Hermione. We’ve got this,” Draco replied, though he couldn’t even convince himself. 

The pair continued, past shards of burnt wood and into a massive chamber. The stone floor was covered in hundreds of winged keys, feathers bent and seemingly dead. Above them flew very few, all slowly and injured. Draco prayed that they weren’t sentient before he and Hermione continued through yet another burnt up door. 

“Who did this?” asked Hermione as the walked through the doorway.

“I dunno, but whoever it is, I hope they’re long gone.” Hermione nodded, clasping her wand tightly. Draco did the same, hoping that whatever was in the next room would be taken care of too. 

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. 

The room was massive, almost all of it taken up by a raised checkered floor. The walls were piled high with crumbling stone and what looked like massive chess pieces, though most of them were broken. Only when Draco could tear his eyes away from the walls did he notice the true spectacle of the room.

The floor before them was a massive chessboard, set up with pieces far taller than him and Hermione. The white pieces stared at them menacingly, daring them to try and beat them, while the black ones had their backs turned. On the other side of the chess board was a door, this one undamaged and well guarded. 

“Uh, Draco. You any good at chess?” asked Hermione, her voice wavering.

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, what little colour he had draining from his face. He tried to recall what he could of the game, but found only his father scolding him for not winning dozens of times. “How about we just walk across and see what happens?” Hermione nodded, taking a step forward. Draco’s hands shook as he joined her, but stopped when Hermione took his hand and together they stepped towards the white pieces. 

The moment they were within a meter, the pawns sprung to action and drew their swords, barring the way. Hermione frowned. 

“Maybe we could-” without warning she dropped Draco’s hand and jumped up, her foot landing squarely on the pawn’s hand before she swung her leg over and slid down its back, dodging under the queen and ending up on the other side. “A bit of a design flaw,” she said, grinning. Draco nodded and gulped before attempting the same manoeuvre. He managed it, though stumbled slightly at the end, and joined Hermione as she pushed open the door. 

The room they entered was dark and empty, the only notable thing being the awful stench of rotting eggs. Draco and Hermione wasted no time looking around before running into the next room, slamming the door behind them in an attempt to stop the smell. It worked, but the moment they stepped away from the doorway, flames sprung up at either end of the room. 

“What do we do now?” asked Draco.

“Look through those potions, I guess,” said Hermione, gesturing to the center of the room. There was an overturned table and several shattered bottles around it, different coloured liquids seemed into the cracks of the stone, swirling together in pools. Half-soaked in the potions was a slip of parchment. Hermione walked towards it and, with  _ wingardium leviosa,  _ lifted the parchment off the floor and at eye level.

“This is not good…” she said, kneeling beside the pool of potions. As she did, Draco noticed a slight mist rising from the pool, swirling dangerously close to Hermione’s face. She saw it too and quickly backed away. “What’s gonna happen?” asked Hermione, continuing to back away. Draco quickly did his best to analyse the potions, but came up with nothing, because potions looked real weird when they weren’t in cauldrons, but he had a slight feeling the same thing happened every time you mixed random potions.

“Well, they’ll either be unreactive and stay there or they’ll ex-” he was cut off by a massive bang as the potions exploded in a flash of orange fire, disappearing moments later and taking the opposite wall and half the floor with it. 

He and Hermione stood there in shock for a few moments, Hermione breaking the stillness by walking carefully around the newly-formed crater and into the room beyond. Draco cautiously followed, accidentally kicking a piece of gravel and watching it fall down the crater. He heard it crash against the walls, but not land.

“Should we do something about that?” asked Draco, backing against the wall as he edged out of the room.

“Just don’t fall in,” replied Hermione, clearly distracted. Draco sighed and sped up slightly, almost running out of the room to avoid the crater. There was still a pillar of fire where the door had once been, but it made no heat. Draco briefly considered sticking his hand in it to see if you even had to drink the potion, but was distracted by Hermione’s defeated voice.

“Someone took him.” Draco was about to ask how she knew before his eyes settled on a familiar Hogwarts trunk, it’s contents spilling out onto the stone floor. The tip of Harry’s wand was poking out from under a shirt. Draco went to pick it up and was shocked when he saw that it was broken.

“We have to tell Sherlock and John,” he said, his eyes prickling as he shoved the wand half in his pocket. 

“First we have to figure out how to get out of here,” Hermione responded, already walking out of the room. Draco followed her quickly, almost slipping into the crater.

The blue fire was still flickering over the entrance, but Hermione raised her wand and yelled, “ _ Bombardus Maximus! _ ” The wall was all but obliterated, the shockwave almost sending both of them to the ground, but the moment they regained their balance the two began sprinting, through room after room, sliding under the outstretched swords of the white pawns and broken keys crunching under their feet. 

“What now?” asked Draco, leaning against the wall of the devil’s snare chamber. Hermione said nothing, only grabbed onto one of the vines hanging from the ceiling. It immediately wrapped around her arm and retracted, pulled her with it. Draco did the same, trying not to panic as other vines joined the first, constricting around him. There was a muffled yell from Hermione and the vines retracted. Draco almost fell before a hand wrapped around his forearm, holding him long enough to wrap a hand around the rope that Hermione had summoned. 

Climbing it with the assistance of magic took no time at all, and soon the two of them were running to the owlery, skidding to a stop at the entrance.

“Do you have a quill?” asked Hermione, taking a piece of parchment from her pocket. Draco quickly rummaged through his own pockets and found nothing.

“Maybe there’s someone ins-” Draco was cut off by Professor Mcgonagall emerging, a quill in hand.

“What are you doing up?” she asked, looking at them sternly. Draco tried to think of an answer, but Hermione beat him to it. 

“Harry was making sure that the Philosopher’s stone was safe, and now he’s been taken. Don’t ask any questions, we need to contact Sherlock and John.” Hermione spoke so fast there wasn’t a chance for Mcgonagall to interrupt.

“The floo in my office can be reconnected to Harry’s house in moments. Follow me.” She walked off immediately, not checking if the two kids were following. Luckily, there were, slightly jogging behind the headmistress in an attempt to keep up. 

“What do we tell Sherlock and John?” asked Draco once they were staring into the emerald green flames of Professor McGonagall’s fireplace. 

“The truth, I suppose,” replied Hermione before stepping into the grate. “221b Baker Street.” Her voice almost wavered, but not enough to change her destination. 

“You next, Draco, and I’ll be right after,” said McGonagall, pushing Draco forward slightly. Draco nodded and stepped into the great. This wasn’t his first time using the floo, why was he so nervous?

“221b-b b-baker st-street,” he said, moments before the flames whipped up around him and sent him spinning through a tight tunnel of sooty stone. He kept his elbows in tight and his eyes clamped shut, praying he would leave at the right grate. 

A few seconds later, Draco landed sprawling on an unfamiliar floor. The beige carpet that his face had oh so gracefully collided with smelt damp and moldy. He sat up, checking for injuries before standing and dusting himself off. Looking around, he saw that the place he’d arrived was not Sherlock and John’s living room. Instead, it was a small, white room, moldy and lit only by a filthy window in one corner. Across the other side of the room was a door, closed, but hopefully not locked. 

The door was locked. 

“God fucking dammit!” Draco kicked the wall in frustration, way harder than intended, and cried out when it collided and he felt something snap. Falling to the ground, he inspected his injured foot and found that it was fine. What had snapped was the drywall, leaving a foot-sized hole in the wall. “Oops…” Draco was about to fix it before he remembered that he couldn’t use any magic. Goddamn rules wouldn’t let him fix a broken wall. He sighed before trying the door once more, pulling on it with all his strength. Nothing happened. 

It took Draco all of two minutes to give up, pull out his wand, and charm the door open. His father could sort it out with the ministry, Draco had more important things to do. Speaking of which, he heard someone yelling from above. It sounded like John, so at least he was in the right building. 

As he heard another yell, Draco began sprinting, up a flight of stairs and into the entrance hallway of 221. He sped up another flight and skidded to a stop just outside the door to the living room of 221b. Without knocking, he burst through it and was greeted by Hermione, McGonagall, Sherlock, and John, all looking slightly angry and more than a little bit worried.

“Where the hell is my son, Draco!” yelled John, pointing at the young boy accusingly. Sherlock stood up and looked as if he was about to calm his husband, but all the lights went out before he had the chance.

“Now why on earth would he know that?” The voice sounded light and airy, coming from all around the room, yet feeling as if it was in Draco’s head. He couldn’t recognise the speaker, only the feeling of malice and evil that he’d only associated with the Dark Lord. “If you want to find your son, I suggest you find out about a lovely little place called Sherrinford. You might learn something new.” The voice stopped and was replaced by a cold, harsh laugh. It echoed throughout the room, hurting Draco’s ears and almost sending him to his knees.

When it finally stopped, the lights flickered around the room. Something was off, and Draco was the first to realise what it was. 

Hermione was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This year so far has been a wild ride and I’ve had very little time to write, so I’m really sorry that you had to wait so long.


End file.
